


Bashert (Destiny)

by badwolfofbakerstreet



Series: The Bashert Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Mythology, M/M, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soul Mate AU, Soul Mate Myth, Special Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfofbakerstreet/pseuds/badwolfofbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bashert, (Yiddish: באַשערט), is a Yiddish word that means "destiny".</p><p>Soul mates, to him it was just a myth. Two halves of one whole desperately searching for one another. It was an effort put forth by the tellers long ago to give people purpose. He wouldn't fall victim to its false hope and sense of such purpose in life. He was Sherlock Holmes, he didn't need a mate.</p><p>*EDITED, fixed some oopsies, added a bit, changed some crappy stuff. ENJOY!*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Mythology

**Author's Note:**

> New story idea that I have to write down before I forget. I love soul mates stories, and decided to try my hand at one of my own. I hope it's not too strange!

There was a time when anarchy ruled the land and the human race was lost in their time on earth.

They wandered around, blindly fumbling from one place to the next, never realizing their full potential. Until one day, The Great Holy Being in the sky split everyone in half, giving them a new purpose: to find that other part of themselves.

That was the story they tried to make you believe as a child. 

In every age there was a teller, and this teller brought new "prophecy" about soul mates. But he refused to believe that. The man or woman chosen to be the Teller was just a religious zealot and a fool. No one had found a true soul mate in _years_. Some believed they'd found theirs, but their brains were obviously clouded by adrenaline and dopamine far too much to realize that it was a false chemical reaction. Those who hadn't found love, or a soul mate, wandered around miserable and depressed, usually resulting in suicide or drug use. He'd almost allowed himself to fall victim to that, but soon realized that he was _Sherlock Holmes, he didn't need a soul mate_. 

His work soon became his true love and the rest, as they say, was history.

Or at least that's what he thought. 

* * *

John Watson sat in front of his laptop, staring at a blank blog page, unsure of what to write.

"Therapists." He scoffed to himself and sighed. He supposed he could write about his immense amounts of research on soul mates. His time training to be a doctor meant sitting through a lot of classes on the matter. Slowly, he began to type. 

_We all know the mythology behind soul mates. And we all know our Teller released a statement regarding the issue of finding said mate. It shouldn't consume our lives like it does. I have seen it drive people crazy. They're with someone and love them dearly, but because they didn't "bond" they selfishly look elsewhere for their true mate, instead of relishing in the love they have. Some turn to drinking and drug use to take away from the fact that the person they're with isn't their mate. I'm speaking from personal experience here._

_Some people walk around and touch everyone in hopes they'll become bonded. But that's not the way it works. You feel a strong connection eons before you bond. It might not be the first touch, or the second. It's meaningful touch that matters, that's when it happens. It's not a handshake or a high five, it's when you bare your soul that two people are able to bond._

_When we bond with our mate, we're supposed to be enveloped in a sense of euphoria and heat. We're supposed to feel whole and right. Our heart rates increase, our senses become amplified... We're basically supposed to believe that we become super human. The Teller of the Fourth Age even stated that some soul mates develop abilities that can be used to help one another._

_I don't know if I believe any of that, but I do know I'm still hopeful that one day I will find my mate. I don't know if it'll be today or tomorrow or in ten years, but I do know that I survived Afghanistan, and I will survive life after it._

John posted his entry and sighed, deciding that would keep his therapist happy, he stood, wobbling a tad on his cane as he did so. With a deep breath he decided it was a glorious day for a walk, and so a walk he would take. 


	2. A Flat mate?

Sherlock watched the small mousy girl, Molly Hooper, dance about him. He knew she was trying to get a feel for him and possibly find a way to make skin to skin contact. In the back of his mind he was laughing at her, but he put on a stone cold front. She'd brushed her fingers against his when she gave him his coffee, he was sure of it. But what he was also sure of, was that there would be no electricity, no heat, no forming of a bond. It simply didn't happen. Her disappointment was written across her face, she'd known him for all of one day and was hoping that he was her mate. It was preposterous; she was a smart woman, a woman of science, surely she didn't follow the  _soul mate craze_. She couldn't possibly believe in that. 

Only she did, and the look on her face, her body language, everything about her screamed infatuated, and Sherlock was  _not_ ready to deal with a crazed fan. He didn't believe in soul mates, wouldn't believe, in fact.

He _almost_ believed in soul mates once, and that was only because he didn't know how anyone could put up with his idiot older brother.

The moment Mycroft met Lestrade, the air seemed to change. Mycroft was... Softer, somehow. They shook hands, nothing happened. Or at least that's how Sherlock saw it. Mycroft claimed his hand burned where Lestrade touched it. And since that day, they'd been inseparable. It was annoying to Sherlock, however, because the day they'd met, was the first day he was allowed on a crime scene by his own volition. After that, he wasn't sure whether Lestrade let him in because he needed him, or because his brother made him. He favored the former. Only his brother forming a fake bond could make him feel inadequate. But he soon realized there wasn't an actual bond, they were just... In love. No matter how many times Mycroft said, "Caring is not an advantage," and he _still_ said it, often; he was still in a relationship and held it above all else. _Pity_ , Sherlock thought they'd be on the same side. But accepting sentiment does that to a man, he supposed. 

Sherlock sat in the lab, at his favorite microscope and stared at samples of human tissue, when the door opened. He glanced up momentarily, seeing a familiar form and then a not so familiar one. The man's blonde hair and tan skin spoke wonders, as did his limp and tremor in his hand. Fascinating, he couldn't stop staring at the man, but decided to force himself to. He'd gathered all the information he needed. This man was brought here as a potential flat mate.

* * *

 

Mike Stamford was the last person John Watson had expected to run into that day. But as it were, it was actually a good thing. John needed a change of scenery, to get out of that one bedroom hole in the wall he was currently living in; it was depressing, and brought him down every time he stepped foot or woke up in it. So he agreed to follow Stamford to St. Bart's, and it was there that he first felt it: the soul piercing eyes. It was as if he had lasers hitting his body, he knew he was being scrutinized, but had no idea why. He watched as a small girl entered, carrying a mug of what he could only assume was coffee. She handed it to him and her hand lingered on his for far too long. John laughed to himself, this girl was trying to form a bond, but it wasn't working out. It was quite apparent this man was not interested in her.

He stood silently as the curly headed man behind the microscope explained his entire life in the drop of a hat. He looked to Mike, assuming he must have told him, but Mike was enjoying the exchange far too much.

They were to be flat mate's then. He supposed he could do that. In a normal situation, he would _not_ have gone to 221B Baker Street to meet the mysterious Sherlock Holmes... But this wasn't a normal situation. Neither of them were normal, he could tell. 

* * *

 

He arrived at the flat, only to be met with Sherlock arriving behind him in a cab. They shook hands, nothing happened, nothing at all.

There was a brief squint of Sherlock's eyes as they released one another's hands and they realized simultaneously that neither of them were surprised, and also that neither had been expecting a thing.

 _That_ was when Sherlock decided he liked John Watson. There was no expectant gleam in his eye before their hands met, and there was no disappointment when nothing happened. He was different, he didn't care about soul mates. This would be a good match. 

By the end of that day, John Watson had killed a man to save Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't exactly sure why, well yes he was, he did it to save the brilliant man with whom he was sharing a flat. But he told himself it was something anyone, with a background in the military and weaponry, would have done for a... Friend? A new friend. They were walking away from the crime scene when the same man who tried to get him to sell details about Sherlock showed up.

"Come for Geoff?" Sherlock asked, and the man scoffed.

"Really, Sherlock. His name is Gregory." His arch enemy had his hands stuffed in his pocket, "And no, I came to see you. Gregory just told me you were here."

"You know the detective inspector?" John asked, slightly confused. The man raised his eyebrows.

"Intimately." He said with a sly grin that made John only mildly uncomfortable. 

"What do you want?" Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, do calm down. Mummy used to hate it when we fought."

"Mummy?" John asked, becoming amused, "You two are..."

"Brothers, yes." He replied.

"Only by blood." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'll be seeing you, Mycroft."

"Until we meet again." Mycroft hummed in response, John turned to watch him take out his phone as he strolled to the crime scene. He turned back to look at Sherlock as Greg ran up to the elder Holmes. 

"Your brother?" John laughed as they walked to a Chinese food place by Baker Street.

"Yes, he's extremely annoying." Sherlock replied, ordering their food. They stood there in not completely uncomfortable silence until it was done. He paid and they left the establishment, heading back to 221B. 

"He and Lestrade?" John started, "Are they..."

"Together? Yes." Sherlock answered, not quite the answer John was looking for.

"Yes, obviously. But... Are they... I mean." He struggled to find the right way to ask. Sherlock looked at him, half amused, half annoyed. John was beginning to understand that this was Sherlock's normal look.

"Soul mates? Bonded?" Sherlock laughed, "He likes to pretend they are."

"Has he ever told you what it felt like when they met?" John asked, suddenly very interested.

"He said it burned where they touched and he was dizzy. But believe me, they're not bonded. I mean either one is hardly super human." Sherlock laughed at the thought as they reached the flat and pushed inside, heading up the stairs, tossing their coats aside and settling into their respective chairs. It was odd that they already had their own chairs. Sure, Sherlock wasn't going to give up his comfortable leather one. It was the perfect chair for thinking. As John sat in the red chair, however, Sherlock couldn't help but think that it matched him perfectly. There was no other chair that could house John Watson. Certainly not his own perfect leather thinking chair. It was  _his_.

"It could be a weaker bond, soul mates don't always exhibit amplified senses and abilities." John shrugged and dug into a box full of dumplings.

"Don't tell me you're a believer?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, almost afraid of the answer. He was starting to enjoy John's company, if he found out his new flat mate was looking to get bonded, he wasn't sure if they'd work out. 

"Not completely. I just know a lot about it. I had to take classes. Soul mates 101, Bonding 111. Things such as that. My favorite was History and Mythology of Soul Mates." John smiled into his food, "Did you know there were two men in the Victorian era that were supposedly so strongly bonded that they could automatically teleport to the others location. Apparently they were policemen, so it came in quite handy." John grinned across at his flat mate as he took a bite.

"They were detectives, Dr. Watson, get your facts straight." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "And it's just mythology. I don't believe it anymore than I believe that dragons exist." John laughed a bit at Sherlock's comparison.

"Dragons do exist, Sherlock." John poked fun, "You just have to believe." Sherlock laughed into his fried rice, almost spitting out his mouthful. He looked across at John, who was staring back at him, his eyes sparkling. A warmth was growing in his chest, making him feel content. He _almost_ didn't notice the spark of adoration brewing in the back of his mind as he averted his eyes away from his flat mate and back into his food. This was a bit not good. 


	3. Sparks of... Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It jumps around a wee bit, it's not completely cohesive from day to day. Obvs. :)

Moriarty was a certified dick head. John thought to himself as he stared down at the bomb strapped around him. He knew he might one day die for Sherlock Holmes, but he never imagined it'd be like this. A crazy Irishman yapping in his ear and wearing a parka in a pool. Such an interesting turn of events.

What was even more interesting to him, was the concern he saw radiating from the consulting detective. It was coming off of him in waves, and John wasn't sure if it was the brevity of the situation, or his eyes playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn he saw a sort of aura around the man. He shook it off, and it went away.

Moriarty played his game, sang his songs, yelled at Sherlock. John tried to get a hold of him so Sherlock could get away. There he was, sacrificing himself for a man he hardly knew. But it didn't matter, because in the end, Moriarty was a step ahead of them.

As soon as Moriarty left, Sherlock ran to his flat mate, ripping the parka off of him. He couldn't stop himself from gripping the sides of John's head.

"Are you alright." He said, desperately staring into his eyes. John closed his eyes and brought his hands up to take Sherlock's off of his face. Their hands lingered together for a moment longer than John would have ever admitted to. It grounded him, Sherlock's hands in his own; he released them upon realizing that he shouldn't be thinking these things about his male flat mate. 

"I'm fine, Sherloooo-Ow!" He shouted, going from calm to puzzled in an instant. On Sherlock's hands, and his own, where they'd just touched, steam was rising. The skin was beginning to bubble a bit.

"What the?" Sherlock began to say, until he noticed the red dots covering John, yet again, "Oh no."

"Sorry boys! I'm sooooo changeable!" The madman shouted, and they were all ready to die. John's hands were clenched into fists and he was severely disappointed that he might die before understanding why his hands were on fire. But then a phone call pulled Moriarty away and left the two newly burned flat mates staring at one another.

"We..." Sherlock began, "Should go home." He said, clearing his throat. John nodded, smiling slightly and the two left the pool, and the jacket bomb, behind. 

* * *

 

They climbed the steps to 221B and stumbled inside, still unsure of how they felt about the recent events. John was staring at his hands, the burns were beginning to fade. Sherlock was doing the same, staring at the backs of his hands. The burns on him, however, were not fading. Not at all. John glanced up at Sherlock, and again, thought he could see an aura surrounding the man. It was almost the same as it was at the pool, only this time it was pulsing quicker.

"Sherlock," John said, after 20 minutes of silence in Baker Street, "What the hell was that? You experimenting with some sort of chemicals, or something?" He asked and was immediately aware that if it were chemical burns, he should try to clean them off. He ran to the kitchen and grabbed a flannel, running to Sherlock and grabbing his hand. He started to wipe away at the tops of his hands, but the grip he had on the detective soon started to burn too and he pulled back, "Bloody hell! Sherlock, what is this stuff!?" 

"It's not-- I didn't... I wasn't experimenting," Sherlock said, his eyes glazed over, a dazed look still dominating his features, "I don't know what's happening." He reached up to touch John's face and John almost jerked back, not wanting his face to burn. But something in his gut told him to stay put, that he knew what this was. Sherlock reached out with wide eyes and his fingers made contact with John's cheek. There was no burning, but an incredible warmth that seemed to spread throughout his body and suddenly, he felt weak. John collapsed onto his knees in front of Sherlock, the detective's hand still cupping the doctor's cheek.

"Sherlock." John said softly, his eyes closed. He was beginning to feel a bout of nausea and his head was pounding. Sherlock still didn't move his hand from the doctor's cheek, however, and suddenly his head was being filled with ideas, thoughts and memories that weren't his. John's eyes shot open as he saw a life that he'd never known flash before his eyes. Curly hair, crying green eyes, a red dog. A mean older brother, two parents who were only trying to do what's best. Isolation, fear, oblivion. Affirmation. Love. Hate. Stoic eyes that saw all, but failed to see all at once. This was Sherlock, this was his life, these were his memories, _how was this happening?_ This wasn't in any of the lore. 

"John?" He heard Sherlock call out, and then he realized that he'd collapsed onto his back, "Are you alright?" A fuzzy and seemingly distant voice called out to him, "Stupid, of course you're alright, I can feel that much." The voice sounded bored, excited and upset all at once. Only Sherlock Holmes could achieve such a tone. 

"Wha-" John groaned, trying to sit up and failing miserably, "What happened." 

"I don't know, but I think," Sherlock sighed and helped John up off the floor, moving him over to the couch in the nicest way possible, "John, I believe we've just... Uh.." The consulting detective was having a hard time admitting he was wrong.

"Bonded?" John asked. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, "Did you see..." 

"I saw everything," John said, bringing his hands to his head, rubbing at his temples, "Your entire life."

"As did I. But yours," Sherlock said, "That wasn't a part of any myth you learned about." 

"No it--Wait, how'd you know?" John asked, opening one eye and glancing down his body at Sherlock, who was perched on the end of the couch, his hands steepled beneath his chin.

"Because you _thought it,_ after realizing you'd experienced my memories." He scoffed in response, standing from the couch, "This is absolutely the most ridiculous thing I have ever experi-eeennnce-OW!" Sherlock said, stopping his pacing as he felt an intense pain run along his shoulder and down to his leg, "Is that! Oh dear god!" Sherlock collapsed onto the ground in the fetal position.

"Sorry... Psychosomatic pain acts up in stressful times," John explained, getting off the couch and walking to the cowering detective, "Have to admit, I feel _amazing_." John laughed, helping Sherlock from the floor this time.  

"Oh great, more lore you didn't know about! Mates transfer pain to one another, perfect." Sherlock scoffed as he plopped down onto the couch, throwing his foot onto the table in front of him and massaging his thigh. The pain began to go away suddenly and that's when Sherlock realized John was sitting on the couch, his eyes closed, breathing steadied in concentration.

"Is that better?" John asked peeking over and Sherlock nodded, his face for once incredulous.

"This is strange." He said. John's brows shot up, his head tilted, he opened his mouth to respond and shut it once again, releasing a small sound that was akin to laugh, but could have been a whimper. He looked at Sherlock again.

"Incredibly."


	4. Completely Unbelievable, Even for him.

Sherlock sat in his chair, staring across at John, who sat in his own chair, staring back at Sherlock. They remained like this for an hour until one of them finally spoke again.

"So..." Sherlock breathed in, "Anything?" He asked.

"I don't know," John said, his brow furrowed, "You got anything?" 

"I haven't been trying anything," Sherlock laughed, "Should I? I already have increased awareness and observation skills. Do I need anything else?" 

"Can you hear that?" John asked, turning his head to look just beyond Sherlock.

"The bird on the building across the street? Yes." Sherlock replied quickly before they both realized what he said. They snapped their gaze back to one another and both got up, running to the window to look across the street. And as fate would have it, there was a bird. Its chirps weren't loud enough for a person with normal hearing to observe, but they could hear it loud and clear as if it were in the flat with them.

"Increased hearing," John laughed, "Wonderful." 

"Sarcasm?" Sherlock asked.

"Increased understanding of sarcasm," John joked, turning to look at Sherlock, who was staring at him, his eyes gleaming with something, "What?" John asked.

"Nothing, it's just... Strange... Hearing your thoughts," Sherlock commented.

"You can hear my thoughts?" John asked, "All of them?"

"Yes, they're in my head as if I were in yours. I can read them all, even the one you just had about trying not to look at my lips too much." Sherlock stated quickly and John scoffed.

"I can't hear yours," He said, almost disappointed, "Why?" 

"Don't know, maybe it's my special ability." Sherlock smiled, getting suddenly excited.

"You think you can hear everyone's thoughts, or just mine?" John asked, brow furrowed.

"Again, I don't know, we'll have to try it out soon." John nodded and sighed, turning around and walking back to his seat. Sherlock did the same, and the staring contest once again ensued. It was John who broke the silence this time.

"Red beard?" John asked, his eyes closed, pulling out the memory of Sherlock's dog.

"Yes." Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, going back into John's memory, "You've had quite a few girlfriends." He laughed, "Oi, that one..."

"Don't laugh at Helen, she was lovely," John said, realizing he could see what memory Sherlock was accessing in his own mind.

"You didn't." Sherlock gasped, pulling out the entire memory. John coughed uncomfortably as clothing was being removed from his 17 year old body and tried as hard as he could to shove the memory back into the bank. Sherlock allowed it and opened his eyes, as did John. 

"Ask me next time, yeah?" John said and Sherlock nodded.

"Ask  _me_ next time. Red beard was very important to me." The detective sighed and tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair.

"Sorry, yeah. I'll ask," John said, smiling softly across, trying to create a calm atmosphere for the two of them. Sherlock suddenly found himself feeling very light and warm as he stared across the room at John.

"Are you doing that?" He asked.

"Doing what?" John asked, still concentrating on the calmness.

"You're making me feel light headed." Sherlock held up a hand, "Stop, please." He laughed suddenly, letting his head fall onto his hand.

"Euphoria?" John asked.

"No, I think you're doing it. It's coming from you, and doesn't seem to be effecting you," Sherlock explained, his eyelids heavy.

"Oh," John said, trying to turn it off, whatever he may have been doing.

"Is that your ability? You can make people feel high?" Sherlock asked, his head becoming normal again, "Or does it only work on me?" 

"Only one way to find out if either of our gifts work on other people," John said, shrugging. Sherlock nodded, understanding completely.

He turned his head and shouted, "Mrs. Hudson!"


	5. Chapter 5

Mrs. Hudson sat on the couch, telling some story about Mrs. Turner from next door and her 'married ones' who were trying to adopt a child. John tried his hardest to make the atmosphere euphoric again, and had to wake Sherlock up from the coma he'd apparently sent him into. Mrs. Hudson didn't notice, however, and continued to chat like normal. 

Sherlock tried his hardest, against his wishes, to hear her thoughts. John asked him to, and after an angry text message from the detective where he stated that he  _did not_ , under any circumstances, want to know what was going through her head, John told him that he should look at it as a science experiment, forcing the detective to relent. He would do it for science. 

Luckily his attempts failed and after thirty minutes of trying to register whether or not their 'abilities' worked on their land lady, they gave up. Mrs. Hudson continued to behave like her normal self, no apparent changes, and Sherlock could not hear her thoughts. They sent her on her way, and she said she'd be back up to dust in a few, even though she was  _not_ their maid. 

Sherlock could no longer sit still, however. He was itching to get out, and beckoned for John to follow him as he threw on his Belstaff. 

"So... What should we do then?" John asked Sherlock as he hurried after the detective.

"It's obvious, we go find the Teller and ask her what to expect... And why we've been chosen." He explained as though it should have been obvious to John. 

 _No one knows who the Teller is._ John thought.

"Mycroft does." Sherlock answered aloud.

"So now, not only can you look at me and figure out everything I've been up to, but you can hear my thoughts as well. Bloody brilliant." John smiled a bit, though he didn't know why. He wanted to be furious, but he couldn't be. He'd finally found a soul mate and it was actually kind of-

"Tedious." Sherlock finished what he thought John was thinking.

"No. I was going to say amazing. But tedious works too. I guess." John tried his best not to think anything else for the remainder of their trek to Mycroft's.

* * *

 

 "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, brother mine?" Mycroft peered across his desk at the two flat mates, his smile painfully sarcastic.

"We need to see the Teller," Sherlock said firmly, achieving an eyebrow raise from the elder Holmes.

"It's for a case." John added, sensing Sherlock wouldn't want Mycroft to know about their having bonded just yet.

"Yes, right." Mycroft rolled his eyes, "I'm afraid no one gets to see the Teller unless... _They've_... Had a vision." He explained, being sure not to reveal the gender of the Teller.

"It is of dire importance, or else we wouldn't have come to you." Sherlock urged, when the phone rang.

"One moment." Mycroft sighed, holding up a hand as he answered, "Holmes... Yes... Oh, I see... Indeed, however I- Yes... Alright. Right away." He hung up and sent an annoyed smile in his brother's direction before writing an address on a piece of paper and sliding it across to the younger Holmes. 

"What's this?" John asked, looking at the paper before Sherlock shoved it into his pocket.

"That is where you'll find the Teller, now, do be so kind as to show yourselves out," Mycroft said, ignoring the two men as they got up and left the office. They climbed into the next available cab and were on their way to meet the mysterious prophet.

While in the cab, neither man spoke, that is until a question arose in John's thoughts.

"You're not very happy about this, are you Sherlock?" John asked aloud, even though he knew the detective had heard him in his mind.

"It's not ideal, no." Sherlock sighed, "I never believed in all this, you know that." 

"So it suddenly happening makes you feel a bit bonkers? I get that, I do." John replied softly, trying to send good vibes to the man next to him.

 _At least it was you, and not some random stranger. Or worse, Moriarty._ John heard these words in his head as if they were his own thoughts.

"Did I just... Did you say something just then?" John asked, a victorious smile beginning to form on his face.

"No... I... Oh dear God, did you hear my thoughts?" Sherlock realized, rolling his eyes.

"I believe I did!" John exclaimed, throwing up a fist, "Alright!"

"Great. You're not going to like what you hear most of the time. Believe me." Sherlock scoffed.

"But that last thought was so lovely, Sherlock." John teased, "I never knew you cared."

 _Shut up, now._ Sherlock warned via his thoughts and John slowly stopped laughing, reaching over and patting the detective twice on the shoulder.

"You'll be fine." He said rolling his eyes as the car came to a stop.

"This is it?" John asked as they stood before the residence of the Teller.

"It would seem so." Sherlock sighed, looking out across the run down landscape before them. They exchanged similar thoughts about the state of the property and made their way up to the front door, narrowly avoiding a few mud puddles along the way. As Sherlock was about to knock, the door swung open and standing before them was a very excited middle aged man.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands together, smiling brilliantly, "I've been waiting for you!" He stepped aside and ushered them in. John's eyes fell to the man's feet, which were covered by fuzzy blue slippers. Sherlock took notice of, well, everything. From his Einstein-esque brown hair to his ratted robe to the flannel PJ's he wore beneath it before finally landing on the fingerless gloves he had on his hands.

 _Why is he wearing gloves indoors?_ Sherlock asked John via thought.

 _Dunno... Why is a grown man wearing fuzzy slippers?_ Sherlock laughed out loud.

 _This man is clearly insane._ He responded.

 _Clearly_. John retorted, glancing to Sherlock, who looked back, amusement behind his eyes.

"Communicating through thought already!" The Teller observed.

"Uh, sorry... What?" John asked rather unconvincingly.

"No need to lie, John, I know all." He replied very seriously. John stared at him, mouth agape. Sherlock was too busy observing his surroundings to understand why the prophet suddenly burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, "Oh your face!" He laughed, pointing to John before beckoning for the men to follow, "C'mon, let's have a sit." They were ushered into a small sitting room with not but a chair and a small sofa, barely big enough for two people. 

"Sit, sit!" The Teller said, "You'll find that the closer you are at the beginning of your bond, the better you'll feel. the nausea you're feeling, John? It _will_ dissipate the closer you remain to Sherlock." 

"How did you-nevermind," John said, he and Sherlock exchanged a glance and then settled onto the small couch, their sides pressed against each other.

"Alright, I suppose you have questions?" The Teller asked, settling into his chair across from the two mates.

"Yes, Mr... Uh, Teller." John said nervously, he could practically feel Sherlock's eye roll.

"Please, call me George." 

"George, really?" Sherlock asked.

"You were expecting something more spectacular or obscure?" 

"Well, yes." Both the detective and blogger answered together.

"Sorry, just George." 

"Ok then, George... Why us?" Sherlock asked.

"A lot of people think mates are predestined by some deity... But they're not. It's much simpler, really. It's blood lines. There were a few hundred or so at the start, those numbers have dwindled just a bit." George explained.

"A blood line? So our ancestors all had mates?" John asked, slightly baffled.

"Well, no. And that's why the numbers have dwindled, you see. It's the ability to form these bonds that is in your blood... But finding them, well that's up to each person. Such as your brother."  He turned to Sherlock, taking a sip of his tea that he picked up off of the small table in front of him.

"Mycroft really did bond with Gary?" 

"Greg." John corrected.

"Yes. But not as strongly as you two. Greg has very small ties to these lines, second cousin twice removed sort of ties. Nowhere near as close as the ties you two have." 

"How do you mean?" John asked.

"Well, this isn't the first time a Watson has found a Holmes." 

"You're saying we're distantly related? That's mildly-" Sherlock began but was cut off.

"No. They were two men as well." George said, "What I'm saying is, your families are two of the originals, your names have been in this since the beginning, since the formation of the bonds. It may have been predestined, but not by any deity."

"Interesting," Sherlock said, furrowing his brow and assuming his regular thinking pose, hands steepled beneath his chin.

"The last Watson and Holmes to find each other... What were their first names?" John asked.

"Well, do you remember the fourth generation Teller's tale of the mates who developed special abilities?" George asked, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, course." John responded.

"That was them, late 1800's London. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes." George revealed and it snapped Sherlock from his thoughts, he glanced up from his hands.

"I'm sorry... Their names were also Sherlock and John?" The detective asked, almost incredulously.

"Yes." George replied plainly.

"This is... Crazy," John said, thrusting his back against the couch, but soon finding he felt cold without Sherlock's shoulder pressed into his and sat up. George smiled at this action.

"You two were simply meant to find each other. It was your destiny. What you do with that knowledge is up to you. It can be romantic, or it can remain platonic, as was your predecessor's bond. Just know that now that you've found one another... This bond will never be broken." George warned.

"Only in death." Sherlock said sullenly.

"This is a little known fact... Actually, only those who have bonded know... You die, he dies and vice versa. So no, Sherlock, even in death, your mate will follow you. It might take a few months, but eventually it happens." John rubbed his face at this revelation and Sherlock continued to stare across at George.

"Ok," He said, standing, John rose almost in sync with him, "Well, thank you for you time." He held out a hand for the prophet to shake, and he took it, reaching out slowly, pulling off his glove in the process. As their hands latched, the Teller became very stiff, his eyes rolled back into his head.

"It'll start soon, the fall. One little push and off you pop." George said, his accent shifting into something more Irish. Sherlock stared across at the man in horror as his accent shifted again, "She's a bad one, that Mary. Very naughty. All those wet jobs for the CIA." He began laughing darkly. John stood aside and stared at them with a small look of terror as he continued to speak in accents and voices that weren't his to begin with. Sherlock finally managed to free his hand after he said a line about missing him.

"Let's go, John." Sherlock said, he and John began to flee the room.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes. I shouldn't have allowed myself... It was just so tempting." George called after the two men, making them stop in their tracks and turn back around.

"What were all those things you were saying?" Sherlock asked desperately.

"Your future, should you choose to stay on this path." George said, quite calmly walking to the two men. He held out his hand for John to shake and with a weary look to Sherlock he breathed deeply, taking the man's hand, the same thing happened, his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Sherlock." He shouted in an accent very close to John's, "I knew it. I knew I was right all along." His visions with John were much shorter and he smiled as he released the soldiers hand, he looked to Sherlock, "If I were you, I'd do what John wants. His future, with the way he's thinking now, is much brighter for the both of you." George raised his eyebrows as he turned and walked back to his chair, "Think about it Mr. Holmes. Either way you're going to fall, you just have to decide which one will be better." 

 _Come on, Sherlock._ John said via the mind and hurried out of the house with the consulting detective on his heels.

"That was, disturbing, to say the least." Sherlock said, breathing deeply, obviously quite perturbed. 

"Yeah." John responded shortly, clenching and unclenching his fists, "What do you think he meant? My path, with the way I'm thinking now..."

"Well our futures are determined by our choices... So clearly you and I are thinking two completely different ways about something." Sherlock said, hailing a cab.

"We just need to figure out what." John sighed, climbing into the car before Sherlock. Sherlock closed the door and leaned against the side, running his hand over his lips as he stared out across the passing houses. 

"Indeed we do." Though he was mildly certain he already knew what they were feeling differently about. His side tingled with the urge to lean over and press against John; for the moment, he allowed himself to give into the need. He and John refused to look at one another, but he could hear in the back of John's mind, a small inkling of a contented sigh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the prophet George. I thought it might be cool to work in that there had been a Sherlock and John before. Just cause. THEY'RE ALWAYS DESTINED TO FIND EACH OTHER! Just sayin.


	6. Is it the woman?

_Sherlock._ _Get up. Now._  The detective groaned as he heard his flat mate's voice ring in his head. He flipped over onto his stomach, not wanting to get out of bed. It was a rare occasion that he felt this way, and this morning was one of the one's that, had he still been into old habits, he'd be in a drug induced coma.

_Nice, Sherlock, really nice. Get up out of bed, or I'm coming in there, and dragging you out. We have a client._

_Why didn't you say so!_  Sherlock hopped out of bed.

 _Put on clothes._ John reminded him and he looked down at his sheet wrapped around his body. With a scoff he tugged on a suit and bound out of his room. 

The case wound up being a death in the country, Sherlock could solve it without even looking at the crime scene, it was hardly worth him putting on clothes and he had half a mind to go back into his room and put the sheet back on if for nothing else but to prove a point to John. How dare he get him out of bed for anything below a six.

_You never sleep, but when you do, you become the laziest-_

"So will you help us, Mr. Holmes? We really are all baffled." The client interrupted John's onslaught of insults, thankfully. Sherlock wasn't awake enough to accept the brunt of them. John smiled at the client. 

"Of course he will, we'll see you at the crime scene tomorrow morning." John answered, not allowing Sherlock to turn down a paying customer. 

"Oh thank you so much, Dr. Watson!" He stood and shook his hand, Sherlock didn't move, so John walked the client to the door and closed it behind him, looking at Sherlock with a fixed and slightly angry stare. 

"What?" 

"You know what." John groaned, rubbing his hands over his eyes, "That was a paying client, and you were ready to turn them down." 

"It's police work, a small amount of money, barely worth the petrol to get out there." Sherlock rolled his eyes before closing them. John could literally see him retreating into his mind palace and groaned again. 

"Just go back to bed, would you." He turned around and stomped up the stairs to his room, if Sherlock was going to his mind palace, it would take all of John's concentration not to follow him there. He would rather sleep. 

* * *

 

Mycroft sat behind his desk, combing through that week's treaties and threats of war. His phone rang and he picked it up. 

"Holmes." He said, annoyance in his voice although it was still early in the day. The voice on the other end began to spout off a story about photos and a dominatrix. 

"We could use someone like your brother on this one, Mycroft."

"I'm sorry, that's simply impossible."

"Why?"

"He's... Well this is completely hush hush, but as you're one of our most prestigious clients, I realize you know a thing or two about keeping secrets... My brother has recently found himself bonded, and needs time to accept and nourish that connection." Mycroft explained and the man on the other end sighed. 

"Will you at least let us bring him in to talk to him about it? Perhaps he'll have a new perspective. Just consultation, nothing more."

"Very well." Mycroft agreed with an eye roll and hung up. They'd bring in John and Sherlock the next day.  

* * *

"Why don't you want to come to the crime scene?" John asked, staring across at Sherlock, who had risen that morning, and still hadn't gotten dressed. He glanced down momentarily at the sheet clad detective and quickly moved his eyes upward, hoping the dropped glance had gone unnoticed. Of course it hadn't, when John's eyes met Sherlock's, he was also met with a smirk.

"I already told you John, it's boring." He replied plainly, "Not worth my time." 

"Well then I'm not going, either." John concluded, looking past Sherlock to the client from the previous day.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, slightly offended.

"Because I..." John suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He wasn't sure why he didn't want to go without Sherlock, he just knew he didn't want to.

"Ah," Sherlock said, having heard the doctor's conclusion.

"Sherlock..." John sighed.

"No, John. I understand. You don't want to leave my side right now, as we were told, we're better off together for the time being. It's completely understandable. It's tedious, but understandable." He plopped down into his chair, his sheet bunched in his hands to hold it tight in the right spots. 

"Well..." John breathed, "Good... Very good." He sniffed, settling into his chair across from Sherlock.

"What do you suggest we do today then? I can look over the case files and make a deduction, it's simple, really." Sherlock steepled his hands beneath his chin and stared intently at his mate, John cleared his throat uncomfortably, squirming a bit under Sherlock's glare.

"Uh, well you could start by putting clothes on. Yeah?" John suggested.

"Does my nudity hinder your ability to function, John?" The detective smirked a bit after asking the question, only half serious. 

"Not at all." John returned the glare with a tight lipped smile. They sat in silence for a moment, merely observing one another. The bell rang, but neither man moved to answer it.

"Any ideas?" Sherlock asked, getting bored with the staring contest.

"None." John replied, the bell rang again.

"Well I suppose we could go to the crime scene." Sherlock rolled his eyes, standing.

"There we go." John growled, standing as well, just as Mrs. Hudson walked up the stairs in a hurry, a worried look plastered on her face.

"Couldn't you hear the bell?" She asked.

"Mrs. Hudson? What's wrong?" John asked, suddenly worried about their land lady. The worry Sherlock could feel coming across their bond made him groan in exasperation. 

"Stop it." He hissed quietly at John.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson?" A large black man stepped through the door, dressed in a nice suit. Two other men were with him, they all three stared across the room at the blogger and the detective, "We'd like you to come with us." He turned back to one of the other men, "His room's down there, fetch him some clothes." He disappeared down the hall and the black man turned back to them, "Your presence has been requested."

"We're terribly busy." Sherlock replied shortly, they stared one another down for a short while, "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't go through my..."  He cut himself off as the man reappeared holding an outfit, "Great, there goes the sock index for sure." He rolled his eyes and shuffled on his feet. 

"Sorry, who are you?" John asked, slightly annoyed, though he was sure the bulk of the annoyance was coming from Sherlock.

"We've been sent to fetch you."

"By whom?" John asked again, Sherlock's brows perked up at the extreme confidence and anger beginning to emit across the bond. He glanced sideways at John but quickly flicked his eyes back to the men, taking in everything he could about them. John could feel all the deductions, and they were beginning to make him feel a bit light headed. He hadn't gotten used to them yet. The way they connected in Sherlock's brain still astounded him. 

"I know _exactly_ where we're going." He began walking away, past the men and down the stairs, shouting behind him, "Come along, John!" John faltered a bit before moving forward, taking Sherlock's clothes from the man and running down the stairs after him.

"Sherlock, your clothes!" 

"No one has time for clothes, John, they're boring." He climbed into the car that was waiting for them and moved to the farthest side to give John room. John followed in suit. 

"Only you, Sherlock Holmes." John laughed and shook his head, the rest of the ride was silent, until they arrived at their destination, John stared out the window, his mouth agape, "Buckingham palace? Did you know we'd be coming here?" 

"Yes." Sherlock replied calmly, looking as bored as ever. John looked over at him, glancing down at his sheet again.

"You're not even wearing pants, are you?" He asked, beginning to smile.

"No." Replied the detective as the car came to a stop.

"Right." John nodded, and the two began laughing as they climbed out of the car, "Buckingham palace." He said softly as they were ushered into the building and down a few corridors. They were taken to a room with a sofa, Sherlock's clothes were placed before him, but he still didn't bother putting them on.

"You're fighting an urge to steal an ashtray." Sherlock said, a smirk on his face.

"Yes, and you're unsure why we're here and who our client is, and it's making you restless." John replied, looking over at Sherlock, "It _is_ ok to not know everything."

"Says you." The detective replied. They shared a look that both grounded and terrified Sherlock. John breathed in deeply, wanting to desperately avert the detective's attention. 

"Who are we here to see do you think? The queen?" John asked the ludicrous question as Mycroft came around the corner.

"It would seem so." Sherlock replied and the two erupted into a fit of giggles.

"So glad to see you two have bonded so efficiently." The extremely unamused elder Holmes said, "Would it kill you to put your clothes on, Sherlock?" 

"I don't know, it might, shall we find out?" Sherlock asked, John felt the years of sibling rivalry and rolled his eyes at the amount of resentment Sherlock felt. 

"Mummy would be so proud." Mycroft sighed. 

"Who is my client?" Sherlock asked, John felt the anger beginning to sift through and tried his best to calm it, but was failing miserably. When Sherlock decided to walk away, he found himself quickly averting his eyes from the slightly whiter skin that found itself suddenly uncovered. Sherlock didn't turn as he grasped his sheet but tried to look as far to the side as he could to see John, as he felt the panic.

Once he'd finally agreed to put on clothes and met the man representing his client, things went a bit smoother.

"The woman?" John asked, looking at the pictures in Sherlock's hands that Mycroft handed across to them. Sherlock seemed hardly interested in the photos as he leafed through them.

"She's a dominatrix." Mycroft replied, "Don't be alarmed, it's to do with sex." The elder Holmes said smugly. John looked over at the two brothers and felt the annoyance and slight embarrassment that Sherlock felt.

"Sex doesn't alarm me." He replied coldly. John could hear Sherlock's heart pounding in his chest. 

"How would you know?" The pissing contest was getting old, and John had had about enough of it. He touched Sherlock's arm lightly, causing the detective to break his gaze from his brothers and look down at him. The reassuring gaze John threw his way was enough to help the detective regain his composure. 

 _Don't let him get to you, Sherlock. Suck it up, you can complain about him later._  John told him, squeezing his arm slightly before turning back to Mycroft, who was staring across at the two men incredulously.

"Still working on that bond, I see." He said, the smug smile still on his face.

"You can shut it." John smiled back, "Just tell us why we're here and what we can do for you. If there's nothing else you need us for... If you called us here to show us a few photos of a dominatrix so you can assert some sort of dominance of your own over your younger brother..." 

"Not at all, Dr. Watson. You're here because we need your consultation." Said the equerry, Mycroft rolled his eyes. Sherlock stared coldly across at his brother, though inside he was practically beaming with pride. 

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but with all do respect, we're in no place to be consulting at the moment," John said, standing, "Sherlock," He said, looking down at the still seated detective, who looked up at him, slightly confused. John rolled his eyes to the doorway and tilted his head.

"Oh, yes... We just need to focus on the bond right now... No offense, I suppose." He stood, half smiling and followed John out the door, "Laterz!"

"Well that was a complete waste of time." Mycroft sighed, "I'm sorry, I told you he wouldn't be able to help on this one."

"Yes, well it's alright, I'm sure your men will be able to get her phone with no trouble at all." The equerry stood, holding out his hand for Mycroft to shake.

"Undoubtedly, it would seem she has an affinity for her assistant and I'm sending in the American's." The elder Holmes stood, shaking the other man's hand and with a raise of his eyebrows, left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, Irene Adler was never involved in Sherlock's life.


	7. Mind Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait guys, had some familia stuff. Death in the family and all that jazz. It's not jazz... That makes me sound happy about it. Now I feel like a horrible person, holy shit. MOVING ON, ENJOY!
> 
> FLUFF GALORE!

_I just don't understand why you let him get to you like that. I mean, you're Sherlock bloody Holmes, the most brilliant man in London. It astounds me, really it does._ John said to Sherlock as they sat in the cab on the way home from Buckingham palace. The detective sighed and looked over at John. 

"What?" He asked aloud, unsure as to why he hadn't said it all aloud. 

" _Just_ London?" Sherlock asked, laughing. He reached into his jacket and pulled out an ash tray, flipping it up into the air, drawing a loud laugh from the doctor,  _I'd say I'm the most brilliant man in all of England, at least._ _Stole an ash tray from Buckingham Palace_.

"No, that makes you the most _ridiculous_ man in all of England." John shook his head, still laughing slightly.

"Oh, of course." Sherlock said, stuffing the ash tray back into his jacket. He stared out his window, wondering why he'd stolen an ash tray. He supposed it was for the comedic relief. He felt John shimmy closer to his side and felt instantly warmer. 

 _Oh, it was for more than the comedic relief. So, thank you, Sherlock._ John sighed, nudging the detective a bit with his shoulder. Sherlock decided the contact felt good so when John moved back to his side of the cab, Sherlock's shoulder followed him, pressing into him. John sighed and looked over at the detective, who was trying to behave normally, as if he hadn't just pressed the side of himself into his flat mate. He didn't mind though,  _it really does feel better._

Sherlock didn't look at him again, but he saw him smile, that was good enough. 

* * *

 

They arrived back at Baker Street and immediately went upstairs. Sherlock sat on the couch, tucking his legs up into himself and wrapping his arms around them. He didn't immediately retreat into his mind palace, John took it as a win. However, he wished Sherlock would stop staring at him so intently. 

"Tea?" John asked, already heading into the kitchen. Needing to turn his back on Sherlock, if only for a moment, to escape the scrutiny of those eyes. 

 _Of course, why do you even ask anymore?_   Sherlock said to him telepathically and John let out a laugh. 

"You are a complete git," John said, shaking his head. He prepared tea for the both of them, heading to the couch and sitting next to Sherlock. He immediately set Sherlock's cup on the table, deciding the detective looked too wrapped up and cozy to be bothered to hold a cup of tea. 

"You know me so well." Sherlock said, unwrapping himself and picking up the beverage, blowing on it momentarily before taking a sip, "Down to how I like my tea. I think you spoil me, John. I'll never be able to drink tea made by anyone else."

"Not even Mrs. Hudson?" John asked, amused. 

"She doesn't bring me tea."

"She does, in the mornings." John said, staring over at his mate, mouth open slightly.

"Oh, is that her?" Sherlock took a sip of his tea, looking to the side, John hesitated for a moment, not knowing if Sherlock was being facetious, or if he really had no idea. 

"It's after I leave." He explained. 

"I thought _you_ left it for me." Sherlock rolled his eyes back to look at John, bringing the cup to his lips. 

"It's hours after I leave. You think it'd still be warm?" John laughed.

"I don't know. I don't pay attention to a lot." He looked away again, unable to meet John's eyes. 

"I know, it's strange, for someone who pays so much attention, you don't pay much at all. And that doesn't make sense. But it makes so much sense." John said, confusing himself slightly.

"If I didn't know exactly what you meant, I'd be extremely confused by that." Sherlock responded, taking another sip. He looked silently to John, and when their eyes met, they burst into a fit of laughter. They laughed for longer than they should have, every time one of them would stop, the other would start up again and it would roll on. 

"Why are we laughing?" John finally asked, between huffs of air.

"No clue." Sherlock panted, "Feels good, though."

"Very good." John said, settling back against the couch. Sherlock also leaned into the back of the couch, only he moved slightly to his left so he was brushing shoulder's with John, who sighed and looked to Sherlock, "You know, if you want to be close to me, you can do it, you don't have to do these subtle movements. Just say, hey John, put your bloody arm around me. Or think it." 

"Okay." Sherlock replied,  _put your bloody arm around me, then. Or something._ He completed via thought. John laughed, shaking his head. He leaned forward and set his cup on the table after taking a big drink. When his back hit the couch again, this time his arm was up and snaking around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling the man closer to him. The moment his finger tips hit the detective's shoulder, a spark of sorts shot through him, calming his nerves in an instant. It was as if all the chatter and neurons firing in his brain ceased, and he was at peace. John felt it too, not as much as Sherlock, as his brain never moved that much. Sherlock rested his head beneath John's chin, closing his eyes. Before the cup fell from his hands, John grabbed it, setting it beside him on the couch,  _Sorry._ Sherlock apologized.

 _No problem. Really._  John replied. They sat in silence for a while, breathing in tandem. John hadn't relinquished his grip on Sherlock's shoulder yet, and Sherlock didn't want him to. The closeness was calming and he'd never felt more relaxed, well at least not without the help of narcotics.

"Hey." John said. 

"Sorry." Sherlock rasped. 

"You really used drugs that much?" John asked.

"You saw it. You know." Sherlock sighed, reminding John that he'd received all of his memories, "Besides, I recall see you using a little recreational marijuana."

"Yeah, in uni. Who didn't." John laughed a small, quiet thing, "That's nothing close to what you did." 

"I know." Sherlock replied. 

"Why'd you do it?" He chanced asking. Sherlock sighed deeply.

"To stop the noise. To stop the _pain_ ; to stop everything." He responded briefly and quietly. John stayed silent, listening to the thoughts running through Sherlock's head. He decided to calm them the best he could, so he began running his free hand through the detective's hair. Sherlock groaned in response and closed his eyes. John listened as his thoughts ceased and all that was left was the hum of appreciation. 

"Sherlock." John said quietly, after he was sure the detective was feeling better.

"Yes, John?" He asked, looking up at his blogger.

"I will never let you feel that amount of pain, ever again. Promise." John said, meaning every word.

"Thank you." Sherlock breathed,  _I wish I could promise the same, but I know myself better than anyone, and I know it's impossible to..._

"Shut up." John said, breaking Sherlock's thought. The detective stared at John intently, their eyes meeting in a half gaze, half stare down. Sherlock furrowed his brow for a moment, trying to listen into what John was thinking in that second.  _You're an utter git. Stop trying to read my mind_. 

"You're reading mine." Sherlock exclaimed, sitting up. The moment was over, John knew it, he'd gotten too close, too comfortable; so he laughed and got off the couch, walking to his laptop.

"I know." He said, smiling as he opened it.

"What are you going to write?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm going to write about what it's like to live with such a prat." John said, smiling sarcastically across at his mate. Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped down onto his back, steepling his hands beneath his chin.

"You like it." He muttered before closing his eyes.

 _I do._ John replied, Sherlock glanced over at him to see John looking away and down at his computer screen. With a half smile he looked back ahead, closing his eyes and doing absolutely nothing but listen into what John was thinking. 


	8. A little help from their bond

Weeks passed, they took cases, things went on. They told no one of their bond, not even Lestrade, though they figured he already knew. Then one night, they found themselves running through the streets of London, not too unlike their first night together. This time they were chasing a supposed serial killer, who was murdering young school age boys. When they'd finally cornered him in an alley, he turned back, holding up a gun in defense. 

"Charles, I suggest you lower your firearm, now." Sherlock said,  _do you have your gun?_

 _Yes, but not at the ready, it's in my pants._ John replied, slowly lifting a hand to his back.

"Why should I? You just wanna arrest me, you wanna figure things out about me!" The man shouted, his hand shaking.

 _He's becoming desperate,_ "No we don't. We just want to talk." Sherlock held his hands out in front of him,  _Do that slower. Less noticeable._

 _Trying._ John's exasperated tone rang out through Sherlock's head. 

"Woah! Wait!" The man shifted his gaze to John, "What are you doing!? Put your hands where I can see them!" 

 _Shit._ John said, his shoulders slumping, he didn't move his hands from his waistband. He had his fingertips on his gun,  _I'm so close._

_Do as he says, John._

_But I'm so close._

_John._

"I said put your hand where I can see them!" He shouted again, cocking back the hammer on his gun.

"Charles, calm down!" Sherlock tried,  _John, do what he says._ He urged and John sighed, taking his hands from his pants, but the motion of his hands dropping caused the suspect to freak out and fire. The gun shot rang out and Sherlock winced, expecting it to hit either him or John, but it never happened. Nothing happened. Everything seemed to stop.

"Sherlock." John said suddenly and the detective opened his eyes, looking down at John, "What just happened?" 

"I don't know." Sherlock said, turning his head to see Charles standing still, gun held out in front of him.

"Did one of us just..."

"Stop time?" Sherlock asked, "Yes, I think so."

"Well it said our abilities would manifest to help one another... What's more helpful than stopping the other from getting shot?"

"Precisely." Sherlock stepped forward, John stepped out of the path of the bullet and simultaneously they made their way around Charles, staring at him and testing the boundaries of what just happened.

"I've never heard of this before. This was definitely not in any of the lore." John said, picking the bullet out of the air and dropping it to the ground. 

"You and your lore, when are you going to realize it was all wrong." Sherlock was busy focusing on Charles, deducing all he could about the man. 

"Oi, not all of it." 

"Most of it." Sherlock replied.

"So did we freeze just  _him,_  or..." John asked, looking back out at the street. Sherlock shrugged, removing the gun from Charles' hands and putting said hands behind the man's back. John however, ran out of the alley, onto the street where there was a car stopped and two people stopped mid-stride on the sidewalk. He walked up to them, snapping in their faces.  _This is cool._ John said, his excitement ringing through in his mind. 

 _Yes, very. Now let's figure out how to unfreeze things._ Sherlock replied and John ran back into the alleyway. 

"That might be important." John said, looking to Sherlock, "Let's just... Close our eyes and concentrate." They both did just that, they closed their eyes and concentrated on unfreezing the world around them. Sherlock did it his way, traveling down the stairs of his mind palace and searching for the room marked abilities. John followed Sherlock, glancing around all the rooms of the palace. Sherlock didn't seem to notice John in his palace before, but once John's amusement went through him, he was aware of the doctor's presence.

 _You've got your own mind to rummage around in._ Sherlock turned to John and said, though his lips didn't move.

 _Yours is so much more organized._ John replied amusedly. He continued to follow Sherlock into the room, and watched as the detective opened a box;  _How did you do all this? Your mind is amazing._

 _Yes, I know. Now let's fix the world, open your eyes._ John did and so did Sherlock; suddenly Charles was struggling against John's grip on his hands. 

"Oi, what!?" He exclaimed, "How?" 

"Don't you worry about that." Sherlock said, smirking as John pulled the man to his feet and they began dragging him down to the Yard. Once they'd dropped him off, they decided to go straight back to 221B. They trudged up the stairs in silence and then sat in their respective chairs, assuming the position they'd grown accustomed to taking whenever something new popped up in their bond.

"We really need to sort this out." John sighed, running his hand over his face.

"Yes, we do." Sherlock replied, "I'm assuming our abilities are going to manifest whenever one of us is in danger." 

"I think it's safe to assume that, yeah." 

"It would be so much more convenient if they'd just all manifest now!" He shouted at nothing. 

"That'd be too easy." John said, half smiling at the aggravated detective. He found him mildly cute when he got like this.

"I am not cute." Sherlock growled, "I'm... I'm-"

"Cute," John finished, laughing. Sherlock huffed, throwing his head back against the chair, "Alright, I've got an idea."

"I'm all ears," Sherlock rasped, still staring at the ceiling indignantly. 

"Let's go back out and practice." He suggested, Sherlock lifted his head to look at his mate.

"Practice?" 

"Yeah, let's go practice stopping time." John smiled at his suggestion. Sherlock raised his brows and nodded.

"Could be good," He sighed, "Plus, if we get really good at it, we can go bother Mycroft. Rearrange important papers on his desk." 

"That's your idea of fun?" John asked, almost not believing it, but it  _was_  Sherlock. Honestly, it sounded like fun to John as well. 

 _See, messing with Mycroft would be the perfect way to use our new power,_ "Let's go." Sherlock stood, tugging on his jacket, he wasn't even sure why he took it off.

"Most days you don't." John said, smiling at the detective. 

"Shut up, let's go." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the possibility of endless abilities. Heh.


	9. Practice Makes Perfect

They walked down the street, their steps in tandem, as they often had been lately. 

"So where are we going first?" John asked after a few moments of walking in silence.

 _Don't talk out loud. We're practicing, which means we should utilize our capabilities to their fullest extent._ Sherlock replied quickly.

 _Alright, agreed._ John responded, _Where are we going first?_

 _Somewhere public, somewhere that we'll know that it's worked_. Sherlock suggested, John sent waves of approval Sherlock's way and they walked on. They walked to the shopping district, there were people everywhere, it being a few weeks before Christmas. 

 _What do we do now?_ John asked, Sherlock huffed, annoyed. John glared at him. 

_We think._

_Yes, but what do we do, do we go into your mind palace?_ John asked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, Sherlock stopped and turned toward him, his hands shoved into his pockets.

_Why can't we go into **your** mind palace?_

_Normal people don't have mind palaces, Sherlock._

_Ah, of course, how silly of me. Alright then... Close your eyes and think._ John rolled his eyes and did as Sherlock said, closing his eyes. He and Sherlock stood in the middle of a busy sidewalk, their eyes closed, facing one another. People passed and stared, some whispered, a few took pictures. But they didn't notice. Sherlock was completely inside himself, and John was along for the stroll. They walked the same path they'd traveled to start time again before, down the stairs, through the halls until they reached that same door. 

 _We didn't need to come in here before._ John thought,  _Why do we need to do it now?_

 _Just... Trust me._ Sherlock sounded agitated, but then again, it was rare that he didn't. He walked into the room and found the box, opening it. He looked to John who nodded and they both opened their eyes. They stood staring at one another, unwilling to avert their gaze to see if it worked. When finally, John found the courage to look. There was a key being tossed into the air next to him, the woman who'd tossed it was looking up expectantly, but she was frozen. Her face was stuck in a half smile, half gawk, her hand out, fingers turned upward. 

 _I think it worked._ John said, and Sherlock looked the the other side. There were families stopped mid stride, arms around each other, smiles on their faces, seemingly in the middle of a conversation. Cars stopped in the middle of the street, people running across it behind them. All frozen,  _This is really spectacular._ John's excitement began to show through his frustration with Sherlock.

 _Indeed it is, John. Come on, let's walk._ He began walking into the street, weaving around cars,  _Let's see how far this reaches._  

_What if we froze the whole world?_

_Don't be ridiculous._ Sherlock said with a laugh, the smile on his face as he glanced back at John genuine. He'd really thought John had told a joke, and John went along with it. Though it was a nice thought, the idea that he and Sherlock had a bond powerful enough to stop the whole world turning. It was romantic and completely insane, but he liked the idea.

John ran a bit to catch up with the detective as he passed cars, glancing all around. They came to a street corner, where a man had just begun some sort of act with fire.

 _What was he doing?_ John asked, walking closer to observe the man.

 _Fire breathing? Lighting a cigarette the hard way? Who knows, who cares._ Sherlock sighed, beginning to pass him, but John stayed put, looking at the fire being spat out of the mans mouth. 

 _It's brilliant, Sherlock, come look at this._ John urged the detective, who sighed audibly as he joined his mate. He stared down at the frozen fire and found that it truly was spectacular. He hesitated for a moment but eventually brought his hand up to the orange flame,  _What are you doing?_

 _I'm going to... Grab it._ Sherlock answered,  _It might be an interesting experiment._

 _But what if it comes back to life when you touch it?_ John asked, worriedly.

 _It won't. Did the bullet? Did Charles?_ Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.

 _Oh, right._ John sighed, stepping back just in case the fire did spring to life again, not wanting to have his eyebrows scorched off. Sherlock wrapped a few fingers around the frozen fire, cupping it in his hand and turning around to John, holding it up.

 _Fascinating._ He said.

 _Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to find an experiment in all this. Come on, let's go._ John turned and began walking again. They passed more frozen people, _I suppose you want to head back to Baker Street to experiment on the fire?_  

 _If you wouldn't mind._ Sherlock replied, still staring down at the flames.

 _So much for practicing._ John sighed, turning the street corner.  _We should really practice more, though._ _Just think, we can freeze everything around us, what if we just focused on freezing one thing at a time? Like bullets, but we don't need to freeze everyone to stop them._  He spouted off rather quickly. 

 _It's an interesting concept, but what's the matter with freezing everything. If we just freeze the bullets, then everyone will know what we can do, and therefore they'll just shoot more bullets at us._  

 _It was just a thought._  John replied, sounding rather hurt by Sherlock's rejection of his idea. He thought it was a good one.

 _I'm not saying it wasn't a good idea, I'm just saying you have to think like the criminals on this one. They'll shoot first and ask questions later._  Sherlock said and John stopped walking as he turned onto Baker Street, the cars were moving and people were walking.  _I think we've reached the end of our range._

 _Yes, it would seem so._ John said, stepping onto Baker Street, suddenly everything there stopped moving too.

 _Just as I'd expected. John stand next to me._ John did as he asked and everything behind John began moving again. 

 _What in the..._ John asked, looking behind him.

 _It's like a forcefield, everything within range freezes. We just have to figure out how to turn it on and off easier._ Sherlock smirked and began to walk to 221B. 

"This is strange, Sherlock." John sighed as they walked into the flat. Mrs. Hudson was frozen walking out of her flat, bag of trash in hand. "We should turn it off now." 

"Yes, in time." Sherlock waved him off, still holding onto the fire. He ran up the stairs and went straight to his microscope. John sighed, with one last look at the frozen Mrs. Hudson, he climbed the steps, taking off his jacket as he walked in. He set about making tea, glancing over disapprovingly to Sherlock every so often.

"I can't even..." John sighed when no water came out of the faucet, "I can't even make tea because the water is frozen in the pipes." 

"So turn it back on." Sherlock said,  _Why have we stopped talking in our minds?_

"Because we're home, and speaking out loud is easier." John growled, "How am I supposed to turn the water back on?" 

"Concentrate." Sherlock replied coldly, observing the orange flames beneath his microscope. 

"Well you might want to get rid of the fire, because I have no clue if I'll start everything or just the water." 

"Do focus on the water, but if it makes you feel better, I'll put the fire in the fireplace." Sherlock sighed and stood, grabbing his frozen fire and walking to the mantle, throwing it into the fireplace. 

"Thank you." John growled and then rested his hands on the counter, staring down at the sink. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, concentrating hard on starting time again. Sherlock watched as he stood at the sink, observing the way his hands gripped the countertop. He raised his brows as he heard crackling begin next to him and looked down to find the fire had sparked back to life, so to speak. Then there were the sounds of water trickling into the sink.

"You did it." Sherlock said, almost disbelieving. 

"I did." John said, turning to face Sherlock, his eyes wide, "I bloody did it." He smiled, walking over to Sherlock, who rested a hand on his shoulder, his face proud and congratulatory. 

"Good job, John. You were brilliant." He said, John turned his incredulous gaze upwards, the light of the newly burning fire lighting the detective's smirk. 

"You realize you say that out loud?" John joked, breathing and sighing as he brought a hand up to grab a hold of the arm Sherlock had outstretched. He rubbed his thumb along the man's forearm before releasing it and stepping back to plop down in his chair. Sherlock's arm dropped to his side and the detective turned, looking to his violin. 

"How about some celebratory violin?" Sherlock said, picking up the instrument. 

"Sounds lovely." John smiled, crossing his legs and awaiting the beautiful music his mate was about to make. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can see some awesome stuff happening with this whole freezing time thing... [=


	10. A Show off for Christmas

Before they knew it, it was Christmas. The flat was filling, to a degree, with their friends, meaning Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and Molly, who had just arrived, dressed to the nines. 

Sherlock began spouting off deductions. And John shot him a warning,  _Sherlock. Stop_   _now._ But the detective kept going. Before he knew it, he was deducing to a frozen room. 

"What?" He asked, seemingly annoyed. He turned to John who was still seated beside his girlfriend of the month, "Why'd you do that? How did you do that?"

"Been practicing." John replied simply. 

"Alone?" Sherlock asked, almost hurt. 

"Yeah. That doesn't matter, what matters is that you're insulting Molly and are about to make a complete arse out of yourself." He said sternly, standing from his spot beside the girl. 

"How?" Sherlock asked, furrowing his brow. John pointed to the gift that Sherlock was about to mention.

 _10 quid that's for you._ He said via thought and Sherlock huffed. 

 _Don't be absurd._ He replied with a smirk, which quickly disappeared the moment he read the tag. With an unreadable face he turned back to Molly. John laughed and took his place behind his date and unfroze the scene. 

"What were you saying, Sherlock?" John asked, Molly looked to the blonde doctor and opened her mouth in slight confusion before looking up expectantly at Sherlock. 

"Uh... Nothing." Sherlock smirked, leaning into Molly. John watched with wide eyes and a flip in his stomach as the detective kissed the cheek of the now flustered pathologist, "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." She blushed furiously and downed half of her drink. Lestrade looked from John to Sherlock and back again with a knowing smile as the detective passed John, handing off money. John grinned as he stuffed it into his pocket. 

A while later, John and his date were ready to head off to her friends party. 

 _Don't go._  He heard the faintest whisper from Sherlock in the back of his mind. He looked over to briefly lock eyes with the consulting detective who looked bored to death, listening to a conversation between a very knackered Mrs. Hudson, a slightly sloshed Molly and a completely sober Lestrade. 

John walked Jeanette to the door, walking through it with her, being sure to shut it behind him. She turned around, her smile quickly fading.

"Where's your coat?" She asked, confused.

"Jeanette..." He replied hesitantly.

"You're not coming." She stated.

"I can't leave him alone." John said and she rolled here eyes.

"He's not alone. He's in there surrounded by friends." She said, trying to reason with John.

"Except that means he'll feel more alone than ever." John replied, "I'm sorry."

"You know.... My friends are so wrong about you." She sighed.

"Hmm?" John asked with a raise of his brows.

"You're a great boyfriend."

"Right, that's good... I always thought I was great." He replied and thought he could hear a whisper of,  _you are._   _  
_

"And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man." Jeanette said suddenly very angry and John groaned.

"Jeanette, please-"

"No, I mean it, it's heartwarming. You'll do anything for him!" She exclaimed.

"No, I'll do anything for you! Just tell me what you want me to do." He replied.

"Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes." She said, and John pursed his lips as he heard Sherlock in his head,  _That'll be hard... Oh! Brilliant, te_ _ll her you'll walk her dog!_

"I'll walk your dog for you, hey I've said it now. I'll even walk your dog." He put on his best smile and Jeanette was unamused, rolling her eyes.

"I don't have a dog." 

"No... Because that was the last one..." He said defeated, "Ok." 

"Jesus!" She turned from him and stormed down the stairs.

"I'll call you!" 

"No!" She replied, turning the corner and almost running into Mycroft who scooted quickly aside as to avoid the woman. The elder Holmes ascended the steps and reached the top, coming face to face with the doctor.

"Well that was rather embarrassing." He said, his eyebrows raised. 

"Incredibly." John replied, slightly confused as to why Mycroft was there.

"She's right, you know." He said suddenly.

"What?" John asked.

"Sherlock is very lucky." John stared at him incredulously, a mild  _What the hell?_ ringing through his mind. Mycroft stood emotionless and finally spoke again, "That's the last time I'm trying that." With an eye roll he stepped around the stunned John and entered the flat.

"Mycroft!" Lestrade exclaimed, "I thought you weren't going to make it?" He walked to the British government. 

"It would appear I was mistaken." He raised his eyebrows at the DI and they stood in silence for a moment. John looked to Sherlock who returned the gaze.

 _Communicating telepathically?_ John asked Sherlock.

 _Who knows, perhaps._ Sherlock responded. 

"Merry Christmas, Gregory." Mycroft said in a soft tone that seemed so intimate, everyone suddenly felt as though they were intruding. Greg cleared his throat after a few seconds of intense eye lock.

"Alright you two." Molly broke the silence, "Spill." She said to Sherlock and John who soon found everyone's eyes on them.

"Spill?" John asked, sitting on the couch next to an almost passed out Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, come on. It's not like we haven't noticed." Molly said, smiling, looking between the two men. Mycroft turned and raised his brow at the pathologist. 

"Yeah, you know what..." Lestrade chimed in, "I noticed somethin earlier." 

"Congratulations." Sherlock remarked.

"Oi, shut it." He said, Mycroft stifled a laugh, "John, when Molly first got 'ere... There was a moment when you moved out of nowhere... One second you were next to uh... Jeanette, and the next you were behind her." 

"Sorry, what?" John asked, trying to sound as confused as possible. 

"You're a terrible liar, Dr. Watson." Mycroft remarked.

"Cats out of the bag, John." Sherlock sighed.

"So, spill!" Molly exclaimed, extremely excited. 

"Sherlock and John have been bonded for quite some time." Mycroft said suddenly. 

"What?" Lestrade asked, Mycroft shot him his 'we'll talk about this later' look and he closed his gaping mouth. 

"For a good... Oh I don't know, six months?" John estimated.

"Five months, four days and seventeen hours." Sherlock said and John looked up at him, wide eyed. 

"So do you have any special abilities then?" Molly pried, completely interested in them

 _Should we lie?_ John asked.

 _Is there a point?_ Sherlock replied.

 _Whatever you're comfortable with, Sherlock. Whatever you want them to know._ John said softly, soothingly into the detective's mind. 

Sherlock sighed, taking a deep breath, "Telepathic connection, which I suspect is normal, seeing how my brother and Geoff can communicate thusly," Lestrade sighed a soft Greg and Mycroft looked at him, Sherlock continued, "We also have increased hearing capabilities and John can influence my emotions and endorphins... We can also stop time. The abilities are developing rapidly and I predict-"

"Wait, wait wait!" Greg interrupted, "Did you say stop time?" He asked incredulously.

"Mmm, yes." Sherlock replied, moving on, "Now I'm thinking that in six months time, John and I could quite possibly be-"

"No, hold on!" He cut Sherlock off again, "You can't just ell us that and move on! That's a big deal." John smiled, glancing up mischievously at Sherlock who furrowed his brow in confusion. Suddenly the room flicked frozen for a brief moment, enough time for John to get up and put his arm around Lestrade. When he restarted it, Greg nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Yeah it is a big deal." John said, looking at the DI, laughing. The DI also began to laugh after his heart rate returned to normal and everyone in the room, save for Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock began laughing. Sherlock wasn't sure how to feel.

"Blimey, this is stronger than I thought it was. I'm feeling light headed." Molly said, bringing her hands to her head. Sherlock looked at John, his brow furrowed.

"No, it's just John." He said.

"Woah." She replied.

 _You can stop showing off now._ Sherlock spat suddenly. John almost jumped at the angry voice in his head. He looked to Sherlock, confusion on his face, but stopped. He did nothing else for the remainder of the gathering. 

Once everyone was gone, Sherlock sat in his chair, thinking, as per usual.

"Sherlock?" John asked, pulling the detective from his thoughts.

"What?" He asked coldly.

"You're not..." He sight, "Why are you still mad?" 

"Don't know, John. Why don't you go into my mind and figure it out." He said, finishing it with a thought, _Since you're so good at this._

"Oh, right. That's it, then. You can't take not being the exceptional one. It kills you that I'm better at this than you." John smiled ruefully down at his mate, walking closer to him with every growled word, "Because it's all well when you want to show off, but I do something I've only been practicing for a few weeks, and you can't handle it. You can't take me showing off a bit. I didn't expect that, I really didn't." He stood in wait for Sherlock's reply. 

"What did you expect?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"I don't know!" He laughed, his voice raising a bit too much, he instantly lowered it to continue talking, "I thought... Maybe you'd be, proud?" He said and Sherlock raised his eyes to look at John, who was standing a few feet in front of him now, he laughed again, "I don't know, I thought... Maybe I was trying to impress you the same way you impress me." With a resounding sigh he turned away, walking into the kitchen, deciding to prepare the two of them tea, because when he got upset, that's what he did.

"Forget the tea." Sherlock said suddenly, "Let's go out."

"Out?" John asked, turning back to the detective.

"It's occurred to me that I wasn't upset because you were showing off. I was upset because you practiced without me. You sod." He stood, smirking and John walked to him, mouth agape.

"You're the sod. You can't steal my best insult for you." He smiled and began putting on his jacket.

"Jeanette was wrong, you're a rubbish boyfriend." He sighed and with a wink he descended the steps, leaving an extremely surprised and slightly blushing John in his wake.


	11. Wise Words from Lestrade

Sherlock and John began practicing together daily, though without the detective's knowledge, John began trying to focus on freezing Sherlock along with everyone else. He wasn't sure whether or not he could do it, but it didn't stop him from trying. He figured it would come in handy if the git ever tried to walk away from an argument. Or it would be fun to mess with him. 

By the time they took the case in Baskerville, they'd developed the ability to see in the dark. They weren't sure if that was a normal thing, or if it was because a lot of their cases took place at night time, and they were adapting. Sherlock favored the latter. 

When Mycroft sent Lestrade up to check on the two of them, John decided to have a talk with the DI, to ask him about his bond with Mycroft. The two men sat at a table after they'd chased Frankland into the mine field. Sherlock had already gone to bed, opting to pass out since he hadn't slept a wink since the case started. 

"Never seen a man get blown up before." Greg said, taking a sip of his pint.

"I have." John shrugged, "It's not something you get used to." He cupped his mug in his hand, not lifting it, but not leaving it be. Greg sighed and watched him.

"Somethin on your mind, then?" He asked after a few moments of John nervously twirling the glass.

"I just..." He began and then stopped to recollect his thoughts, "You and Mycroft..."

"Yeah?" Greg urged.

"When you..." John hesitated to find the right word.

"Bonded." The DI said, helping him out. 

"Yes, when you bonded... Was it an instant love connection, or?" John asked and waiting for his answer.

"Oh god no!" Lestrade laughed, "I mean, I was still married. Albeit she was a cheating whore, but hey... I loved her." 

"So what made you... Change?" He asked, trying to be delicate. 

"To be honest... It just took time. You know as well as I do that Mycroft is not an easy man to get along with." Greg said plainly, "But once you get to know him, you can't help but... But..."

"Love him?" John asked, Greg smiled.

"Exactly. Both the Holmes brothers are like that, though. I'd known Mycroft for years. We'd met many times. I was the one who always pulled Sherlock off the streets or away from crime scenes, and eventually I was the one who let him into crime scenes. I spent four years looking after that boy, always turned him over to the care of Mycroft Holmes." He shook his head at the memory, as if not believing it had actually happened. 

"And in the fourth year? How did you two finally establish your connection?" John was enthralled, he'd never heard the story. 

"The last time I ever arrested Sherlock for using... Instead of taking him in, I took him straight to Mycroft. I then gave the man an earful about looking after his brother, told him he should worry about him more than the country. Told him if I were him, that's what I would do. Hell, that's what I did. I sacrificed my job for the bloke constantly, still do." He took a drink, and glanced around for a few seconds before continuing, "When I was about to leave, he extended his hand. The first time he ever wanted to shake my hand for looking after his brother the way I did. And his thank you was so sincere. When our hands connected, they burned. It went straight up my arm and into my chest. And that was that, we were bonded." 

"And you never developed any abilities?" John asked, almost disbelieving.

"Well, apart from a slight telepathic connection... We have to be in the same room for it to work. It's nowhere near what you and Sherlock have." Lestrade half smiled, "But I'll tell you what, Mycroft's childhood, and growing up... He cares so much for his little brother. He's just so afraid of seeming weak or sentimental." 

"He cares about you, obviously." 

"He didn't. Not at first. He said the bond was a distraction and completely inconvenient. But then, I caught my wife in bed with another man, and well I guess I was sending such horrible feelings through the bond, Mycroft came right to me. Said he was worried I was being murdered or had been kidnapped. Said he was relieved it was just my wife, and had I asked him, he would have told me she was cheating on me. It was so painfully obvious." 

"And that was it?" John asked, mouth agape.

"No, he let me move in with him. I didn't want to go back home, for obvious reasons. He said to come stay with him. And things escalated from there." He sighed and John knew story time was over, though he was completely interested in it, "What's this all about, John?" 

"Nothing, I was just interested 's all." He replied rather unconvincingly and Lestrade nodded.

"Right, you know... I may not be a Holmes, but I do share a bond with one. I know that you're lying." 

"I would hope your skills as a Detective Inspector would help you to know when someone is lying." John smiled, and Lestrade almost punched him.

"Yeah I can see it." He replied and John shot him a confused glance.

"See what?" 

"Sherlock's effect on you." He answered plainly.

"His effect?" John asked.

"Yeah... Him being in your head and what not. It's not a bad thing." Lestrade said, smiling, "You're rubbing off on him too. I can tell." 

"I'd certainly hope so." John muttered.

"You're bloody hopeless, aren't ya? Head over heels." Greg laughed and John scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Course not. I'm not gay." He said, his usual defense.

"Just because you're not gay, don't mean you don't love him. There's a lot of things other than being gay, y'know. Look it up." He said with wide eyes as he downed his beer and stood, "Take it from a guy who also isn't gay, but is in love with a Holmes." With that he walked away, leaving John to ponder into his beverage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awe the story of Mycroft and Gregory, how cute.


	12. The Story of a Lifetime

With the events of the next few weeks, it was nearly impossible for John to talk to Sherlock about his feelings. He decided against it anyhow, realizing that if Sherlock felt the same, he'd have felt a tinge of something across their bond.

"Don't get smart on the stand." John warned as he readied himself in the mirror above the fireplace. Sherlock glanced over at him, straightening his jacket.

"Well that's a pointless statement." He said, "I'm being called because I _am_ smart."

"No." John growled, turning around to face the detective, "You're being called because you know Moriarty better than anyone. You can put him away." He walked to Sherlock, prepared to straighten the man's tie, but then remembered-

"I don't wear ties." Sherlock smirked, looking down at John who had his hands half extended. They were floating in the air midway to Sherlock's collar bones, unmoving from the abandoned action.

"I know." He sighed, "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Leave the thinking up to me." Sherlock said, placing his hands on either side of John's shoulders, "Worry not, I'll make sure they find him guilty." With a reassuring smile and squeeze of John's shoulders, Sherlock was off, down the stairs and out of the flat. John hurried after him and they headed to the court house. 

* * *

 

John found himself sitting and listening in on a conversation Sherlock was having in the loo. He furrowed his brow as he listened to Sherlock spout off rude deductions about the reporter, and decided to intervene. He hurried to the toilets, to see Sherlock exiting. A dazed red head followed, her face was somewhere between pissed off and frightened.

"I'm sorry." John breathed, almost out of breath from running, "He didn't mean it."

"What?" She asked, slightly confused before she realized who he was, "You're John Watson." She smirked, sauntering up to him.

"Yeah." He replied, he could hear Sherlock scoffing in his head,  _What are you doing?_

"Care to give a statement?" She asked, pulling out her recording device, "You and Sherlock, just friends?" 

"That doesn't matter." He said aloud, but in his head he was replying to Sherlock,  _Saving you. We need the press on our side._

"Doesn't it?" She asked, her eyebrows raised, "Why not?" 

"It just doesn't. You're missing the point." He said and she was taken aback.

"Am I? Boy you're just like him, aren't ya?" She sighed, "Ok, so what am I missing?" 

"How did I know to apologize on behalf of Sherlock? I wasn't in there with you." He challenged and she gained her interest back.

"Alright, how?" She asked and he shook his head.

"Not now, not here..." He looked around, "We'll give you your exclusive, and it won't be about Sherlock and Moriarty... It won't be about the status of our relationship. It'll just be about the two of us. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, two mates, making it through on a day to day basis." He began backing away, heading for the court room. 

"Why would I be interested in that?" She asked, still confused.

"Dunno... Like I said, we're just two  _ **mates**_ , living our lives." He shrugged and before he turned he stopped and smiled, "You know where we live, I expect to see you there later tonight. For the story." He smirked and turned, heading back to his seat. Kitty stood in the halls, baffled before it clicked, with a smile, she was off. 

* * *

 

Sherlock was held in contempt and sent to jail for a few hours until John could bail him out. When they arrived back at the flat, Kitty was waiting. They climbed the stairs and found her sitting inside on their couch.

"How'd she get in here?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes at the woman and flopping into his chair. 

"Your land lady let me in." She said, staring at him in challenge.

"I invited her." John said.

"I know, I heard." Sherlock scoffed and Kitty furrowed her brow.

"How? You weren't near us." She said, looking from John to Sherlock, "Something's going on here, I can feel it." 

"How lucky for you." The detective said, turning to John.  _Tea?_ He said it as a question, but it was more of a request.

"Yeah." John sighed his response, Kitty continued to look on intrigued. 

"So why have you invited me here, Dr. Watson?" She asked, her hands wringing together in anticipation. John turned around with a tray in his hand, setting it down on the table, pouring first Kitty a cup and then giving Sherlock his. Taking his own last, he sat in his chair, turning to the journalist, "What are you offering me?" She asked instead after the room remained silent. John smiled at her and after a quick glance to Sherlock who rolled his eyes and nodded, he turned back to her.

"The story of a lifetime." 


	13. Confessions

"You were the one who agreed to this ridiculous article, and now you're nervous that Moriarty might use the knowledge of our bond against us!" Sherlock droned as John stood before him, worry budding in his gut. 

"He came here, Sherlock... I don't think my fear is misplaced." John sighed, his hands placed at his sides, fists clenched.

"Yes, he did. It was a challenge. He wanted to show me that he is more clever than I give him credit for. But he is unaware that I would have never underestimated his reasons for getting captured. I knew he'd rig the jury. It was child's play." He scoffed, waving his hand in the air as if the idea was beneath him. John smiled warily down at his mate.

"You're worried." He stated, Sherlock barely glanced his way, "I can feel it, Sherlock. You're not fooling me." 

"If you already know what I'm thinking, then we have no need to discuss this matter further." Sherlock said, still refusing to look at John as his fingers played at his lips.

"No, we do. We need to talk about this. What if he tries to take you down? Hmm? He said it, he said the words, a fall is going to start soon... What do you think that means?" John continued to stare, his mouth agape as he waited for the detective's reply, "I'll tell you what it means, Sherlock... He's going to try to discredit your abilities as a detective, and will probably lead to your suicide... Wait." John was surprised at the words that came out of his mouth. Sherlock turned to him fully.

"Expressing my deductions now, are we?" Sherlock asked, his brow raised, "Interesting. I hadn't even fully formed them yet." 

"So, you've gathered that he's out for blood, namely, your blood." John asked.

"Of course." He scoffed, "Why else would he have come here. Why else would he be targeting me so blatantly. I don't know what his plans are, yet... But we need to be on our guard." He sighed, standing from his chair. As he waltzed past John, he held out his hand, catching it in the crook of Sherlock's elbow, keeping him from passing.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid." 

"Please, John." Sherlock almost shouted, rolling his eyes before glancing down at John. His face softened upon observing the genuinely concerned look his blogger was baring.

"Promise, Sherlock. Even if I'm in danger, don't do anything without..." He breathed, "Without us discussing it. If you die..." 

"Yes I know, if I die, you inadvertently die as well. But good old George wasn't even sure how long it'd take, you could have years-"

"Stop it, just stop this." He interrupted, his hand gripping onto Sherlock's arm. The detective looked down at it, the pressure should have been uncomfortable, but he found it to be the exact opposite. Somehow it was calming, "If you died, I don't know what I would do."

"Well, you'd die..."

"No." John shook his head, the word came out as a low growl, his smile slightly angry, slightly annoyed, his eyes shining as he looked up at his mate, "Don't cheapen this with your rude facade, you know exactly what I mean. You are... You have-" He sighed, using his free hand to pinch this bridge of his nose. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but shut it again, feeling John's inner turmoil. He tilted his head in slight confusion, though understanding dawned on him as John looked back up at him again.

 _You are my reason to live. So don't do anything stupid._ He managed to say, feeling that if he said it by thought, it made the words less embarrassing. With one last heartfelt squeeze on Sherlock's arm, John let go, turning and walking quickly up the stairs to his room. Sherlock stood speechless, and nearly breathless, in the middle of the sitting room, his arm still bent. He could feel the residual heat from where John's hand had been and he glanced down at it.  

* * *

 

John slammed into his bed, not caring if he seemed childish. He sat with his back against the headboard, his arms crossed, trying hard not to be angry with Sherlock's brush off of his sentiment, but he couldn't help it. He knew that what he felt was real, it wasn't an illusion of the bond. It was genuine.

He could feel Sherlock drawing nearer and wasn't surprised when the door creaked open. He barely glanced to the side as Sherlock shuffled in awkwardly walking to the edge of his bed, kneeling down on the floor, in front of John. He could see Sherlock's aura, it wasn't pulsing as it normally was, it was a low glow, brightened only by his proximity to John, to his closeness to the bond. 

"John, I imagine..." He began but sighed, a pulse, "I'm sure you think love is a mystery to me." He said finally, glancing up for a moment at John through his lashes, noticing the surprised look that crossed his features, another pulse, "It's chemistry isn't." He reached out and grabbed onto John's hand, two of his fingers feeling for his wrist. Sherlock's aura brightened at the touch and John couldn't control the increase in his pulse, and he knew that's what Sherlock was looking for.  _I promise you, I won't put myself in harms way on purpose._ He said without glancing up. John sighed, wrapping his hand around Sherlock's wrist. They sat there for a few moments, feeling nothing but each other's heartbeats. 

"But to ask me to risk your life to save myself." Sherlock rasped aloud before swallowing, "I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to do that. Your survival, your life, means more to me than my own, I'm afraid." He finally raised his eyes to John's face and kept him there, taking in the blown pupils of his blogger, he imagined his-

"Yours are huge." John breathed, something akin to a smile on his face.

"I figured." He shrugged, "It's not something that can be avoided, it's a natural reaction." 

"To what?" 

"Focussing on the object, or in our case, person, whom you most desire." He said it coldly, scientifically, but John decided that was the only way he knew how. It was John's turn to let his eyes fall, unable to keep them on Sherlock's face for fear that his cheeks would be too flushed. He allowed his thumb to trace circles on Sherlock's wrist as he released his grip and then tightened it again, squeezing a bit.

"This is..." He laughed slightly, unsure of what he meant to say.

"I know." Sherlock said, John flicked his eyes upward, his tongue inadvertently darting out to wet his lips. Sherlock could feel his desires, and longed to reciprocate them, but it was not the time for that, "The article will hit the stands this Saturday, and when it does, I'm sure we'll have plenty of press to talk to. But for now..." He stood, readying himself to leave, "Let's just enjoy our lives as they are." John tried to hold onto Sherlock, but something told him now was not the time, so he let go. With a quick glance and a small smile Sherlock left the room and John sighed, settling down into his bed, knowing he wouldn't be falling asleep easy. 


	14. Frozen

"Sherlock!" John called after the detective as he watched the cab pull away from the yard. With an annoyed grumble he caught the next one, clenching his fist nervously as he glared out the window on his way back to Baker Street. _Are_ _Sir boast-a-lot's stories even true?_ He heart the Irish accent in his head, confused by their origins. Deciding it must have been something Sherlock was experiencing he concentrated, closing his eyes. When he opened them again he knew he wasn't seeing his own cab's interior. He was staring down at the small TV screen, watching as Moriarty told a story about a knight of the round table. It was a warning, a clear message to Sherlock, and things began clicking into place. 

"No one will believe it." John said, suddenly snapping out of it, looking around he was in his own cab.

"What was that?" The cabbie asked.

"Nothing." John shook his head and as the cab pulled around the corner, he saw Sherlock spinning around desperately searching for something. There was a man on the ground next to him, unmoving, "Stop here!" He said, throwing money at the man and jumping out, "Sherlock!" He shouted, running up to the detective.

"John." Sherlock responded, "You saw it?" 

"Yeah." John said, "It was weird." 

"I know, I felt you. It was as if you were..." He stopped, knowing the last few words could be deduced, and saying them aloud would involve too much innuendo that he needed to avoid at that moment. They watched the downed assassin get wheeled away by an ambulance crew and followed the detective back to their flat.

He paced, John watched, piping up when he was needed. Sherlock began his frantic search for the camera in the flat and John went to answer the door.

"Greg." John growled, looking up at the DI, "You know he won't come with you." 

"I have to ask." He said with a shake of his head, "I don't like this anymore than you do, John." 

"I'm sure." He replied, angrily following Lestrade up the stairs to their flat. 

"No, inspector." Sherlock said, not looking up from his work on the computer with the camera, and it progressed from there. 

"Moriarty needs me to be photographed being taken in for questioning by you. You and you alone, Lestrade, the one man on the yard who's trusted me most. He knows there's an article about John and I coming out, and he needs something bigger to take away from the fact that we're the most exceptional bonded pair to ever exist." Sherlock explained quickly and Lestrade stared at him, mouth wide open. John felt slightly smug at his description of them, but quickly pushed it aside, the worry taking up too much room in his chest at that moment. Lestrade left without him and Sherlock knew what was coming.

 _He'll be back with a warrant, I'm sure of it. Donovan won't let him leave this one be._ Sherlock said to John, unsure whether or not he was free to speak aloud. 

 _Damn._ John sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face as he sat in his chair, "This isn't good, Sherlock." 

_Our article will be enough to have at least half of the public population on our side, and you can be called as an expert in the case, because, well... Who knows someone better than their mate?_

"But what if they don't believe us?" John asked, knowing the question was dumb the moment it left his lips.

"We'll just have to show them, won't we?" Sherlock smirked, getting up from the table and moving to sit in his chair, crossing his legs, waiting. By the time the flashing blue lights appeared outside of Baker Street, Sherlock was completely ready and John was a nervous wreck. He suspected some of the nervousness was from Sherlock, but at the moment he didn't care. He went down to intercept Lestrade, following the man back up to see Sherlock had already readied himself, his jacket was on, his scarf was secure.

As Lestrade read him his rights, John suppressed the urge he felt to punch someone, though when Sally entered, looking positively smug, he thought he could deck her right there. 

 _Get down here, we'll freeze them._ Sherlock said to him, and John smiled across at the Chief who was now walking through their flat, commenting on how Sherlock seemed like a weirdo. Good a reason as any to punch someone. 

As he was slammed against the side of the car, confusion struck as he was being handcuffed to Sherlock. In what world was it a good idea to cuff the two of them together. They exchanged a look, closing their eyes simultaneously. Upon opening them, everyone had stopped moving. Everyone but Lestrade.

"What did you boys do?" He asked, poking Donovan. 

"Froze them, so we can get away." Sherlock said, backing away from Lestrade.

"Why aint I frozen, then?" He asked.

"To bare witness to our escape. Tell them I took John hostage and fled." 

"Yes, but how did you get away with only me noticing?" Greg was clearly in.

"Tell em the truth." John shrugged, "We're mates, we froze time, left you unfrozen. And we ran away." Greg sighed and walked to them, handing over his gun.

"And you stole my gun, for protection." He held it out and Sherlock eyed it warily, taking it only after Greg shook his hand once. 

"Thank you." He said and Lestrade rolled his eyes, as if his loyalty to the two of them should have been obvious. 

"Go." He commanded and they ran. Their cuffed hands made it slightly difficult to run in tandem so Sherlock grabbed John's, the heat that emitted through the connection was a comfortable one, not too scalding. 

"Why are we running?" John asked when they stopped to catch their breaths, "We froze em, everything around us freezes... So again I ask, why are we running?" 

"Because we wanted to get away from Lestrade as soon as possible?" Sherlock asked, and John looked up at him, they allowed themselves to laugh for a brief moment, until the brevity of their situation set in. 

"This is not good, Sherlock." John said, leaning against the building they stopped by.

"I know." He said, "I don't know what Moriarty expects to happen." 

"He expects to discredit you. But does he know about the article?" John asked, looking down to find a stack of newspapers. He held it up to Sherlock, the box at the top held the headline,  _Story of the century, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, two_   ** _mates._** The headline played through Sherlock's mind and John smiled, knowing that once people read it, they'd never believe whatever Moriarty had planned. Or at least hoping. 

"He has to know. He knows everything." Sherlock said quietly, causing John to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said about him." John laughed and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Let's go to Bart's." Sherlock said suddenly, and he began walking. John was tugged along as they began making their way to the hospital. They ended up hitting a crowded part of the city, oddly filled for the time of night.

"Why are there so many people out?" John asked as they passed the frozen families and couples. 

"Who cares." Sherlock responded, interlacing his fingers with John suddenly, making the blogger smile and his stomach flip, "I felt that." Sherlock said, looking back at the man.

"Sorry." He sighed, trying to control himself, it was definitely not the time to be thinking of the meaning behind his and Sherlock's hands locked together. 

"Makes maneuvering through the crowd easier." Sherlock said plainly.

"Liar." John smiled and Sherlock looked back, rolling his eyes.

"Sherlock, watch out!" John said as Sherlock looked ahead, almost running face first into someone, but John tugged him back before he could do so. Sherlock barely avoided a collision with the frozen man and instead found himself knocking into John. Their laced fingers made the simultaneous fall unavoidable and soon Sherlock found himself falling on top of John with a huff.

"Ow." John said, as his head made contact with the ground.

"Too bad we can't freeze each other." Sherlock said, hoisting himself off of the ground and pulling John up after him. The shorter man nearly lost his footing again as he got a head rush, falling against Sherlock.

"Yeah." He growled, his free hand gripping Sherlock's arm, "We need to get this cuffs off as soon as possible before we end up falling into the Thames." Sherlock brought his free hand up to feel John's head where he'd impacted with the ground, bringing it away to find it clean.

"Well you're not bleeding, that's good." He smiled down at the still extremely close soldier.

"Yeah." John said again, softer this time as he looked up at Sherlock, their faces dangerously close to one another's. He could hear Sherlock's hear rate increase, and was sure the detective could hear his as well as there were no other sounds around them to take away from the super hearing. John's tongue darted out, quickly wetting his lips and Sherlock knew instantly what was crossing his mind, and he wouldn't have had to be a mind reader to know. 

"What the hell," He muttered, lowering his head, "We've got time." He said against John's lips before closing the small gap. A bolt of electricity shot through them as their lips connected, but it wasn't a bad thing, in fact it was very good. It made John jump slightly and Sherlock had a small sound emit from his throat, and as they broke, they began laughing.

"That's what I call sparks." John smiled and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Puns, so boring." He ran a hand through John's short blonde locks, letting that hand rest on the side of John's face, just at the crease of his neck, "Don't ruin the moment." John smiled incredulously up at the detective, and he used his own free hand to pull the man's face back down to his, increasing the passion of the kiss a bit more than before. They stood there, on a frozen street, kissing one another for the second time, as though they'd never be able to again.


	15. A resolution to the final problem

_You're going to leave, and then you're going to come back._ Sherlock said, sitting with his legs propped up in the lab at St. Bart's.

 _Why would I leave?_ John asked, shooting Sherlock a confused look. 

 _Because Moriarty won't come if he knows you're here._  

 _Why do we need him to come?_ John sighed, standing and putting on his jacket.

 _Because we need to catch him, I'll be recording our conversation._ He pulled a digital recorder out of his pocket and held it up, his eyebrows raised.  _Courtesy of Kitty Riley._  

"I'll go... But I'm not going far. I'm not going to come back just in time to..." He rolled his eyes, searching for the most ridiculous thing, "I don't know, to watch you fall off a building or something." He walked to Sherlock, taking the man's face between his hands, "Don't get too close to him, he could very well push you, and then where would we be?" 

"You'll save me." Sherlock smirked, "It's your specialty." John shook his head and leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. Sherlock let his eyes fall shut for that moment, reaching up and grabbing onto John's wrists. He removed John's hands from his face and held them together, kissing his knuckles before John finally pulled away.

"If all else fails, we can just freeze things." John winked, backing away as he turned and walked out the door. He received his response from Moriarty then, he was waiting on the roof for him.  _Hurry back._ He said to John, hoping he could still hear him as he stood, preparing himself for his rooftop encounter with the consulting criminal. He ascended the stairs, stepping through the door to find Moriarty sitting on the edge, listening to Stayin Alive. He rolled his eyes, this man was insane.

Their banter had begun and John could hear it all. He was in the cab on his way back to Bart's and when he heard it, the plan to have Sherlock commit suicide.

"Dammit!" He shouted, the cabby looking back at him, confused, "Sorry." He shook his head, continuing to listen into their conversation. 

 _Your friends will die if you don't._ He heard and John knew that was it, Sherlock would do it. 

"Freeze him." John whispered, wondering why he hadn't done that already. The cab arrived at Bart's and he got out, looking up to see Sherlock holding Moriarty out over the edge. He quickly pulled him back and John continued to listen to their conversation. He got an idea and pulled out his phone, dialing Mycroft, but first he hid behind the ambulance station, knowing there was a sniper somewhere out there that was aiming at him. 

"Mycroft." John said, cutting off any greeting, "Don't talk, just listen, Moriarty has three gunmen, one on me, one on Lestrade and one on Mrs. Hudson. Take them out." He hung up, stuffing the phone back in his pocket, knowing he would be jumping out of his seat the moment he heard Lestrade was a target. 

"You see, Sherlock... That's the difference between you and I. You're boring, you're ordinary. You bonded with someone so... So  _boring_." He growled the word, his eerily happy facade falling for just a brief moment and Sherlock could see the real monster underneath. 

"I'm sorry my soul mate is boring." Sherlock said coldly, "I didn't have a choice in the matter, but I don't mind. He's not as boring as you think." 

"Of course you had a choice in the matter!" Moriarty shouted, reaching out and taking Sherlock's hand into a handshake, "Think, _doofus!_  It's bloodlines, you could have found another person with one of them before John." He squeeze Sherlock's hand and Sherlock looked down, his brow creased in confusion before he realized. 

"Oh." He began laughing, "You." He said, looking up at the conflicted face of the consulting criminal. 

"We could've been great, Sherlock." He sniffed, "Think about it, we could've been unstoppable." He pulled his hand away, "But now you have to die, because you're boring, you're on the side of the angels." Sherlock stopped laughing, his face becoming hard, Moriarty may have known the basics of soul mates, but if he knew their lifelines were connected, he would have known getting Sherlock to kill himself by threatening John wouldn't be a valid threat.

"I may be on the side of the angels, but don't for one second think that I am one of them." And then realization dawned on Moriarty and he pulled out a gun, putting it into his mouth, Sherlock stumbled back and concentrated. The criminal froze.

 _Sherlock?_ John's frantic voice called out in his mind.

 _It's ok, John. I froze things._ Sherlock reassured him,  _I'll come down._ He straightened his coat and looked over the side of the building, down at John.

 _You may have frozen him, Sherlock... But you didn't freeze anyone else._ John said and Sherlock let his eyes go from John to the still moving people and cars on the street.

 _What.. How? I..._ He stopped talking suddenly, and John could hear the deductions and thoughts running through his head.

 _No. Don't you dare._ John warned, he stepped away from the ambulance station, out into the open.

 _Stay back. Stay exactly where you are._  Sherlock shouted, stepping up onto the edge of the building,  _If you step out, you could be shot._  

 _Yes and if you jump off that building I'm as good as dead anyway._ John responded,  _Don't do this, Sherlock._  

 _I'm sorry, John... There's nothing to be done._ John stopped listening, he closed his eyes, concentrating as hard as he could, he opened them for a split second as Sherlock said,  _Goodbye, John, see you soon._  

"Sherlock!" He shouted, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting, waiting for the sound that would mean the end of everything, but it never came. In fact, there were no sounds at all. He opened his eyes, his breathing rapid, but it hitched the moment he saw it. Sherlock was suspended in the air, a few feet away from the pavement, "Sherlock." He said quietly, running up to the frozen man, "Did I..." He reached out and touched him, a laugh escaping his lips. He looked around, everyone else was frozen as well. He doubled over, breathing heavily, the weight lifted off his shoulders and he let a few tears of relief slip out as well, "You bloody great git!" He growled, reaching out again and trying to decide the best way to pull Sherlock out of the air. He first pulled on the detective's arm, but then decided it might be easier to just turn the man into a standing position, his legs on the ground, so that's what he did. He bent the detective's waist, moving his legs down until his feet touched the ground. Though he was frozen, he wasn't any lighter, so John struggled a bit in the process of moving him. Once he had Sherlock standing, he thought that was a bad idea, thinking what if he continued to fall at full speed when he unfroze him, then his legs would be broken. 

"That makes no sense." John shook his head, but decided to lay the detective flat onto the ground, so it wouldn't matter if there was any gravitational pull when he unfroze him, there'd be absolutely nowhere for him to go. He stepped back after he finished and admired his handy work. He was about to unfreeze things when he stopped, wondering if when he unfroze them, would Moriarty also unfreeze. He looked up, deciding to run up there and take Moriarty down while he was frozen. He ran up to the roof, walking out to see the frozen criminal, his hand in the shape they would be if he was holding a gun in his mouth, but the gun was gone. He laughed, walking up to face the monster. He lowered the man's hands, laughing again at the wild look on his face. He then turned, clenching his fist, he thought, he might as well. He reared back and swung that fist with all his might, punching the consulting criminal straight in his face.

"Good." John said, shaking out his fist after the hit, "That should bleed." Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out the handcuffs that were previously attached to him and Sherlock. He cuffed one end to Moriarty and then proceeded to drag the frozen body of the criminal behind him and cuffed him to the ladder on the side of the building, "That should hold you." He smiled, admiring his handy work once again and turned, running back down the stairs and out of the hospital, back to Sherlock's side. And then he closed his eyes, concentrating. 

"John?" He heard the unsure voice of Sherlock Holmes ask after a few moments, he opened his eyes to see Sherlock sitting up, looking around confused. John sighed in relief and stepped forward.

"Don't you ever do anything like that again." He demanded, holding out his hand. Sherlock took it and he helped the man up, his fists clenching again as he realized he was angry. He hesitated but eventually decided to punch Sherlock as hard as he could in his arm.

"Ow!" Sherlock shouted, rubbing his arm, "That hurt." 

"It hurt less than jumping off a building!" He shouted, people turned to stare. 

"I'm sorry, I saw no other choice." 

"Well you're lucky I was able to freeze you." John said quietly, stepping closer to Sherlock. The detective prepared for another hit but was pleased when John pulled him into a hug. He hugged back, resting his face in John's hair, kissing lightly.

"I knew you'd save me." He whispered and John growled, pulling him in tighter. 


	16. Finale

John sat at an overly fancy restaurant, everyone around him dressed in black tie, including the wait staff. His palms were sweating and he downed about three glasses of water as he waited for Sherlock to arrive. He wouldn't dare take the ring out, didn't even bring the box, knowing Sherlock would be able to deduce what was in his pocket in a matter of seconds. No, instead, he'd told Sherlock they needed to come to this restaurant because a member of management was likely embezzling and they were called in to investigate. 

So he sat and waited, checking his watch every so often, a waiter finally came over, suggesting to him a fine bottle of wine, he accepted it, of course. John looked up into the face of his mustached server. 

"Sherlock?" John said, trying to hold back his laugh. 

"Surprise!" Sherlock said quietly, and John shook his head. The drawn on mustache was a bit over the top and he wondered where he got the glasses until he glanced behind Sherlock at the person frantically searching their table. 

 _You can't go around stealing people's glasses._ John scolded, though the delight on his face told Sherlock he didn't care. 

"What... Are you doing?" John asked, "Sit down."

"I'm undercover. You said the a member of management was embezzling, well I've uncovered so much more!" Sherlock sat across from John, removing the glasses and dipping a napkin into a glass of water, wiping away the pen marks. 

"Doesn't surprise me." John grinned widely across at his mate, "I should have known something would be going on here."

"Well you said a client contacted you, I'd assume they weren't lying." Sherlock stared across at him, his eyes flitting around to the other patrons and employees.

"Sherlock, _I_  Lied." John said and soon all of Sherlocks attention was directed at him.

"What?" He asked, furrowing his brow, John could hear him trying to work it out. 

"I've been working really hard for the past 2 weeks to keep you out of my thoughts," John began and Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but shut it quickly after a mental warning to shut up, "I told you a tall tale about a thieving manager to get you to come here with me, I had no idea there'd actually be something going on."

"John, if you wanted to bring me here as a date, you didn't need to invent a case, though I admire the touch."

"Yes, but I knew you'd start deducing my reasoning behind coming here instead of going to our regular place like Angelo's, which I admit, might have been better suited. But I was aiming to impress, and even now, I realize, was a stupid idea."

"John..." Sherlock said, beginning to panic as he was figuring things out. 

"Stop thinking," John said, scrubbing his hands over his face, "it's giving me a headache." 

"Sorry." Sherlock said shyly and John reached across the table, taking his hand into his, running his thumb across Sherlocks knuckles in an effort to calm him he used a bit of his abilities, just bringing down Sherlocks adrenaline, allowing him to relax. 

"Sherlock..." He began, the words he'd prepared coming to his mind, but he was trying his hardest not to let Sherlock hear them, as much as he loved sharing their thoughts, building barriers had become a slight necessity in the past 2 years, they'd both agreed on that, "I love you. I know you know that, and I know you feel the same... You and I were made for each other, though we were told that, and our biology made it very apparent, I think without the bond, we'd have figured that out. There is no one in this world who I'd rather spend my life with. It's only you, it's always been only you." He halted, reaching into his jacket pocket with his free hand. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, trying to see what he'd just removed, but John knew better than to show him. Sherlock saw the room flick for a millisecond and when he looked down, a ring was on his finger. He looked up to see a sly smile on John's face. 

"Did you just freeze me?" Sherlock asked, smiling as he looked down at his hand.

"I did." John replied, taking his hand into his, a glimmer of gold appearing on his other hand and Sherlock felt his stomach twist, "I think you can deduce what I'm about to say to you, but let me say it anyway." He stood from the table, dropping down to one knee in front of his mate, "If you could see your way to being my husband, my life mate, my love... I'd probably be the happiest man in existence." John smiled as Sherlock withdrew one of his hands, cupping the side of John's face. 

"You have fought for me, you've killed for me, you've almost died for me. I suppose if marriage is what you want, I can get over my principles for you." His response drew an affectionate eye roll from John, "Only for you." He said softer, bringing his face down until his forehead was touching John's, when he kissed him their lips burned. The heat traveled through their faces and down their necks, a sensation they'd become acclimated to since they'd bonded three years prior. Every time they kissed or held hands or touched in any way, there was that heat, the ever present memory that they were one; they were supposed to meet and the heat reminded them that it was destiny. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I got kinda stuck on how to end it. Sorry for jumping from the fall to here. I thought it'd be interesting!!!! 
> 
> As my first foray into Sherlock AU, I think I did pretty well..... Let me know how ya feel about it!!!!


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